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THE   ETHICS   OF  THE   DUST. 


THE 


Ethics  of  the  Dust 


XTen  Xectures 


little  housewives 


The   Elements  of   Crystallisation. 


JOHN   RUSKIN,  LL.D., 

Honorary  Student  of  Christ  Church,  and  Slade  Professor 
OF  Fine  Art. 


SECOND    EDITION. 
with  new  preface  and  added  note. 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN    WILEY    &    SONS, 

53  East  Tenth  Street. 


DEDICATION. 


TO 

XLbc  "Real  Xittle  "fcousewives, 

WHOSE   GENTLE    LISTENING 

AND   THOUGHTFUL  QUESTIONING 

ENABLED   THE   WRITER   TO   WRITE   THIS   BOOK, 

IT     IS     DEDICATED 

WITH    HIS   LOVE. 

Ckrisifnas,  /<5^/. 


CONTENTS. 


LECTURE 

I.  The  Valley  of  Diamonds, 

pagb 
3 

II. 

The  Pyramid  Builders, 

21 

III. 

The  Crystal  Life,  . 

39 

IV. 

The  Crystal  Orders, 

59 

V. 

Crystal  Virtues,    . 

8i 

VI. 

Crystal  Quarrels, 

IC7 

VII. 

Home  Virtues, 

129 

VIII. 

Crystal  Caprice,     . 

157 

IX. 

Crystal  Sorrows,    . 

179 

X. 

The  Crystal  Rest, 
Notes, 

ao3 
235 

PERSON.C. 


Old  Lecturer  (of  incalculable  age). 

Florrie,  on  astronomical  evidence  presumed  to  be  aged  g. 

Isabel, 

May, 

Lily, 

Kathleen, 

LUCILLA, 

Violet, 

Dora  (who  has  the  keys  and  is  housekeeper), 

Egypt  (so  called  from  her  dark  eyes), 

Jessie  (who  somehow  always  makes  the  room  look 

brighter  when  she  is  in  it), 
Mary  (of  whom  everybody,   including  the    Old 

Lecturer,  is  in  great  awe). 


14. 
"  IS- 
"  16. 
"  •?• 
"     17- 

"     18. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 


I  HAVE  seldom  been  more  disappointed  by  the 
result  of  my  best  paiiis  given  to  any  of  my  books, 
than  by  the  earnest  request  of  my  publisher,  after 
the  opinion  of  the  public  had  been  taken  on  the 
'Ethics  of  the  Dust,'  that  I  would  "write  no 
more  in  dialogue  !"  However,  I  bowed  to  public 
judgment  in  this  matter  at  once,  (knowing  also 
my  inventive  powers  to  be  of  the  feeblest,);  but 
in  reprinting  the  book,  (at  the  prevailing  request 
of  my  kind  friend,  Mr.  Henry  Willett,)  I  would 
pray  the  readers  whom  it  may  at  first  offend  by  its 
disconnected  method,  to  examine,  nevertheless, 
with  care,  the  passages  in  which  the  principal 
speaker  sums  the  conclusions  of  any  dialogue  :  for 
these  summaries  were  written  as  introductions,  for 
young  people,  to  all  that  I  have  said  on  the  same 
matters  in  my  larger  books ;  and,  on  re-reading 
them,  they  satisfy  me  better,  and  seem  to  me  cal- 
culated to  be  more  generally  useful,  than  anything 
else  I  have  done  of  the  kind. 


X       PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOND  EDITION. 

The  summary  of  the  contents  of  the  whole  book, 
beginning,  "You  may  at  least  earnestly  believe," 
at  p.  211,  is  thus  the  clearest  exposition  I  have 
evcf  yet  given  of  the  general  conditions  under 
which  the  Personal  Creative  Power  manifests  itself 
in  the  forms  of  matter;  and  the  analysis  of  heathen 
conceptions  of  Deity,  beginning  at  p.  212,  and 
closing  at  p.  225,  not  only  prefaces,  but  very 
nearly  supersedes,  all  that  in  more  lengthy  terms 
I  have  since  asserted,  or  pleaded  for,  in  'Aratra 
Pentelici,'  and  the  'Queen  of  the  Air.' 

And  thus,  however  the  book  may  fail  in  its  in- 
tention of  suggesting  new  occupations  or  interests 
to  its  younger  readers,  I  think  it  worth  reprinting, 
in  the  way  I  have  also  reprinted  *  Unto  this  Last, ' 
— page  for  page;  that  the  students  of  my  more 
advanced  works  may  be  able  to  refer  to  these  as 
the  original  documents  of  them ;  of  which  the 
most  essential  in  this  book  are  these  following. 

I.  The  explanation  of  the  baseness  of  the  avari- 
cious functions  of  the  Lower  Pthah,  p.  51,  with 
his  beetle-gospel,  p.  56,  "that  a  nation  can  stand 
on  its  vices  better  than  on  its  virtues,"  explains 
the  main  motive  of  all  my  books  on  Political 
Economy. 

IL  The  examination  of  the  connexion  between 
stupidity  and  crime,  pp.  83-92,  anticipated  all 
that  I  have  had  to  urge  in  Fors  Clavigera  against 
the  commonly  alleged  excuse  for  public  wicked- 


PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOND  EDITION.  XI 

ness,  —  "They  don't   mean  it — they  don't   know 
any  better." 

III.  The  examination  of  the  roots  of  Moral' 
Power,  pp.  141-145,  is  a  summary  of  what  is 
afterwards  developed  with  utmost  care  in  my  in- 
augural lecture  at  Oxford  on  the  relation  of  Art  to 
Morals;  compare  in  that  lecture,  §§  83-85,  with 
the  sentence  in  p.  143  of  this  book  "Nothing  is 
ever  done  so  as  really  to  please  our  Father,  unless 
we  would  also  have  done  it,  though  we  had  had 
no  Father  to  know  of  it. " 

This  sentence,  however,  it  must  be  observed, 
regards  only  the  general  conditions  of  action  in 
the  children  of  God,  in  consequence  of  which  it  is 
foretold  of  them  by  Christ  that  they  will  say  at  the 
Judgment,  "When  saw  we  thee?'  It  does  not 
refer  to  the  distinct  cases  in  which  virtue  consists 
in  faith  given  to  command,  appearing  to  foolish 
human  judgment  inconsistent  with  the  Moral 
Law,  as  in  the  sacrifice  of  Isaac ;  nor  to  those  in 
which  any  directly-given  command  requires  noth- 
ing more  of  virtue  than  obedience. 

IV.  The  subsequent  pages,  145-153,  were 
written  especially  to  check  the  dangerous  im- 
pulses natural  to  the  minds  of  many  amiable 
young  women,  in  the  direction  of  narrow  and 
selfish  religious  sentiment :  and  they  contain, 
therefore,  nearly  everything  which  I  believe  it  nec- 
essary that  young  people  should  be  made  to  ob- 


Xll  PREFACE    TO    THE   SECOND  EDITION. 

serve,  respecting  the  errors  of  monastic  life.  But 
they  in  nowise  enter  on  the  reverse,  or  favourable 
side  :  of  which  indeed  I  did  not,  and  as  yet  do 
not,  feel  myself  able  to  speak  with  any  decisive- 
ness ;  the  evidence  on  that  side,  as  stated  in  the 
text,  having  "never  yet  been  dispassionately  ex- 
amined." 

V.  The  dialogue  with  Lucilla,  beginning  at  p. 
92,  is,  to  my  own  fancy,  the  best  bit  of  conver- 
sation in  the  book;  and  the  issue  of  it,  at  p.  99, 
the  most  practically  and  immediately  useful.  For 
on  the  idea  of  the  inevitable  weakness  and  cor- 
ruption of  human  nature,  has  logically  followed, 
in  our  daily  life,  the  horrible  creed  of  modern 
"Social  science,"  that  all  social  action  must  be 
scientifically  founded  on  vicious  impulses.  But 
on  the  habit  of  measuring  and  reverencing  our 
powers  and  talents  that  we  may  kindly  use  them, 
will  be  founded  a  true  Social  science,  developing, 
by  the  employment  of  them,  all  the  real  powers 
and  honourable  feelings  of  the  race. 

VI.  Finally,  the  account  given  in  the  second 
and  third  lectures,  of  the  real  nature  and  marvel- 
lousness  of  the  laws  of  crystallisation,  is  necessary 
to  the  understanding  of  what  farther  teaching  of 
the  beauty  of  inorganic  form  I  may  be  able  to 
give,  either  in  'Deucalion,'  or  in  my  'Elements 
of  Drawing.'  I  wish  however  that  the  second 
lecture  had  been  made  the  beginning  of  the  book  ; 


PREFACE    TO    THE    SECOND  EDITION.  XIU 

and  would  fain  now  cancel  the  first  altogether, 
which  I  perceive  to  be  both  obscure  and  dull. 
It  was  meant  for  a  metaphorical  description  of  the 
pleasures  and  'dangers  in  the  kingdom  of  Mam- 
mon, or  of  worldly  wealth  ;  its  waters  mixed  with 
blood,  its  fruits  entangled  in  thickets  of  trouble, 
and  poisonous  when  gathered  ;  and  the  final  cap- 
tivity of  its  inhabitants  within  frozen  walls  of 
cruelty  and  disdain.  But  the  imagery  is  stupid 
and  ineffective  throughout ;  and  I  retain  this 
chapter  only  because  I  am  resolved  to  leave  no 
room  for  any  one  to  say  that  I  have  withdrawn, 
as  erroneous  in  principle,  so  much  as  a  single  sen- 
tence of  any  of  my  books  written  since  i860. 

One  license  taken  in  this  book,  however, 
though  often  permitted  to  essay-writers  for  the  re- 
lief of  their  dulness,  I  never  mean  to  take  more, — 
the  relation  of  composed  metaphor  as  of  actual 
dream,  pp.  24  and  167.  I  assumed,  it  is  true, 
that  in  these  places  the  supposed  dream  would  be 
easily  seen  to  be  an  invention  ;  but  must  not  any 
more,  even  under  so  transparent  disguise,  pretend 
to  any  share  in  the  real  powers  of  Vision  pos- 
sessed by  great  poets  and  true  painters. 

Brantwood  : 

loth  October,  i8tj. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  lectures  were  really  given,  in  sub- 
stance, at  a  girls'  school  (far  in  the  country)  ; 
which,  in  the  course  of  various  experiments  on 
the  possibility  of  introducing  some  better  practice 
of  drawing  into  the  modern  scheme  of  female 
education,  I  visited  frequently  enough  to  enable 
the  children  to  regard  me  as  a  friend.  The  Lec- 
tures always  fell  more  or  less  into  the  form  of 
fragmentary  answers  to  questions  ;  and  they  are 
allowed  to  retain  that  form,  as,  on  the  whole, 
likely  to  be  more  interesting  than  the  symmetries 
of  a  continuous  treatise.  Many  children  (for  the 
school  was  large)  took  part,  at  different  times,  in 
the  conversations  ;  but  I  have  endeavoured,  with- 
out confusedly  multiplying  the  number  of  imagi- 
nary *  speakers,  to  represent,  as  far  as  I  could,  the 

*  I  do  not  mean,  in  saying  'imaginary,'  that  I  have 
not  permitted  to  myself,  in  several  instances,  the  affec- 
tionate discourtesy  of  some  reminiscence  of  personal 
character  ;  for  which  I  must  hope  to  be  forgiven  by  my 

XV 


XVI  PREFACE. 

general  tone  of  comment  and  enquiry  among  young 
people. 

It  will  be  at  once  seen  that  these  Lectures  were 
not  intended  for  an  introduction  to  mineralogy. 
Their  purpose  was  merely  to  awaken  in  the  minds 
of  young  girls,  who  were  ready  to  work  earnestly 
and  systematically,  a  vital  interest  in  the  subject 
of  their  study.  No  science  can  be  learned  in 
play ;  but  it  is  often  possible,  in  play,  to  bring 
good  fruit  out  of  past  labour,  or  show  sufficient 
reasons  for  the  labour  of  the  future. 

The  narrowness  of  this  aim  does  not,  indeed, 
justify  the  absence  of  all  reference  to  many  im- 
portant principles  of  structure,  and  many  of  the 
most  interesting  orders  of  minerals  ;  but  I  felt  it 
impossible  to  go  far  into  detail  without  illustra- 
tions ;  and  if  readers  find  this  book  useful,  I  may, 
perhaps,  endeavour  to  supplement  it  by  illustrated 
notes  of  the  more  interesting  phenomena  in  sepa- 
rate groups  of  familiar  minerals  ; — flints  of  the 
chalk  ; — agates  of  the  basalts  ; — and  the  fantastic 
and  exquisitely  beautiful  varieties  of  the  vein-ores 
of  the  two  commonest  metals,  lead  and  iron.  But  I 
have  always  found  that  the  less  we  speak  of  our 
intentions,  the  more  chance  there  is  of  our  realis- 

old  pupils  and  their  friends,  as  I  could  not  otherwise 
have  written  the  book  at  all.  But  only  two  sentences 
in  all  the  dialogues,  and  the  anecdote  of  'Dotty,'  are 
literally  'historical.' 


PREFACE. 


XVU 


ing  them ;  and  this  poor  little  book  will  sufficiently 
have  done  its  work,  for  the  present,  if  it  engages 
any  of  its  young  readers  in  study  which  may  en- 
able them  to  despise  it  for  its  shortcomings, 

Denmark  Hill  : 

Christmas  1865. 


Cccture  1. 
THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  THE  DUST. 


LECTURE  I. 

THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS. 

A  very  idle  talk,  by  the  dining-room  fire,  after  raisin-and- 
almond  time. 

Old  Lecturer  ;  Florrie,  Isabel,  May,  Lily,  and 
Sibyl. 

Old  Lecturer  (L.).   Come  here,  Isabel,   and 
tell  me  what  the  make-believe  was,  this  afternoon. 

Isabel  (arranging  herself  very  primly  on  the 
foot-stool).  Such  a  dreadful  one  !  Florrie  and  I 
were  lost  in  the  Valley  of  Diamonds. 

L.  What  !  Sindbad's,  which  nobody  could  get 
out  of? 

Isabel.   Yes  ;  but  Florrie  and  I  got  out  of  it. 

L.  So  I  see.     At  least,  I  see  you  did ;  but  are 
you  sure  Florrie  did  .? 

Isabel.  Quite  sure. 

3 


4  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Florrie  inputting  her  head  round  from  behind\^.'% 
so/a-cushion).      Quite  sure.      {Disappears  again.) 

L.  I  think  I  could  be  made  to  feel  surer  about 
it. 

(Florrie  reappears,  gives  L.  a  kiss,  and  again 
exit. ) 

L.  I  suppose  it's  all  right ;  but  how  did  you 
manage  it .? 

Isabel.  Well,  you  know,  the  eagle  that  took 
up  Sindbad  was  very  large — very,  very  large — the 
largest  of  all  the  eagles. 

L.  How  large  were  the  others .? 

Isabel.  I  don't  quite  know — they  were  so  far 
off.  But  this  one  was,  oh,  so  big  !  and  it  had 
great  wings,  as  wide  as — twice  over  the  ceiling. 
So,  when  it  was  picking  up  Sindbad,  Florrie  and 
I  thought  it  wouldn't  know  if  we  got  on  its  back 
too  :  so  I  got  up  first,  and  then  I  pulled  up  Flor- 
rie, and  we  put  our  arms  round  its  neck,  and 
away  it  flew. 

L.  But  why  did  you  want  to  get  out  of  the  val- 
ley ?  and  why  haven't  you  brought  me  some  dia- 
monds ? 

Isabel.  It  was  because  of  the  serpents.  I 
couldn't  pick  up  even  the  least  little  bit  of  a  dia- 
mond, I  was  so  frightened. 

L.   You  should  not  have  minded  the  serpents. 

Isabel.  Oh,  but  suppose  that  they  had  minded 
me? 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DLAMONDS.  5 

L.  We  all  of  us  mind  you  a  little  too  much, 
Isabel,  I'm  afraid. 

Isabel.   No — no — no,  indeed. 

L.  I  tell  you  what,  Isabel — I  don't  believe 
either  Sindbad,  or  Florrie,  or  you,  ever  were  in 
the  Valley  of  Diamonds.     • 

Isabel.  You  naughty  !  when  I  tell  you  we 
were  I 

L.  Because  you  say  you  were  frightened  at  the 
serpents. 

Isabel.   And  wouldn't  you  nave  been  ? 

L.  Not  at  those  serpents.  Nobody  who  really 
goes  into  the  valley  is  ever  frightened  at  them — 
they  are  so  beautiful. 

Isabel  (suddenly  serious).  But  there's  no  real 
Valley  of  Diamonds,  is  there.? 

L.  Yes,  Isabel ;  very  real  indeed. 

Florrie  {reappearing).  Oh,  where?  Tell  me 
about  it. 

L.  I  cannot  tell  you  a  great  deal  about  it ; 
only  I  know  it  is  very  different  from  Sindbad's. 
In  his  valley,  there  was  only  a  diamond  lying  here 
and  there  ;  but,  in  the  real  valley,  there  are  dia- 
monds covering  the  grass  in  showers  every  morn- 
ing, instead  of  dew  :  and  there  are  clusters  of 
trees,  which  look  like  lilac  trees  ;  but,  in  spring, 
all  their  blossoms  are  of  amethyst. 

Florrie.  But  there  can't  be  any  serpents  there, 
then? 


6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

L.  Why  not  ? 

Florrie.  Because  they  don't  come  into  such 
beautiful  places. 

L.  I  never  said  it  was  a  beautiful  place. 

Florrie.  What !  not  with  diamonds  strewed 
about  it  like  dew  ? 

L.  That's  according  to  your  fancy,  Florrie. 
For  myself,  I  like  dew  better. 

Isabel.  Oh,  but  the  dew  won't  stay ;  it  all 
dries ! 

L.  Yes  ;  and  it  would  be  much  nicer  if  the  dia- 
monds dried  too,  for  the  people  in  the  valley  have 
to  sweep  them  off  the  grass,  in  heaps,  whenever 
they  want  to  walk  on  it ;  and  then  the  heaps  glitter 
so,  they  hurt  one's  eyes. 

Florrie.   Now  you're  just  playing,  you  know. 

L.   So  are  you,  you  know. 

Florrie.   Yes,  but  you  mustn't  play. 

L.  That's  very  hard,  Florrie  ;  why  mustn't  I,  if 
you  may? 

Florrie.  Oh,  I  may,  because  I'm  little,  but 
you  mustn't,  because  you're — {hesitates  for  a  deli- 
cate expression  of  magnitude^. 

L.  {rudely  taking  the  first  that  comes).  Because 
I'm  big  .-*  No ;  that's  not  the  way  of  it  at  all, 
Florrie.  Because  you're  little,  you  should  have 
very  little  play  ;  and  because  I'm  big  I  should 
have  a  great  deal. 

Isabel  and  Florrie  {both).     No — no — no — no. 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  / 

That  isn't  it  at  all.  (Isabel  sola,  quoiiiig  Miss 
Ingelow.)  'The  lambs  play  always — they  know 
no  better.'  {Putting  her  head  very  much  on  one 
side. )  Ah,  now — please — please — tell  us  true  ; 
we  want  to  know. 

L.  But  why  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  true, 
any  more  than  the  man  who  wrote  the  '  Arabian 
Nights ' } 

Isabel.  Because — because  we  like  to  know 
about  real  things ;  and  you  can  tell  us,  and  we 
can't  ask  the  man  who  wrote  the  stories. 

L.   What  do  you  call  real  things  ? 

Isabel.  Now,  you  know  !  Things  that  really 
are. 

L.  Whether  you  can  see  them  or  not  ? 

Isabel.   Yes,  if  somebody  else  saw  them. 

L.   But  if  nobody  has  ever  seen  them  ? 

Isabel  {evading  the  point).  Well,  but,  you  know, 
if  there  were  a  real  Valley  of  Diamonds,  some- 
body must  have  seen  it. 

L.  You  cannot  be  so  sure  of  that,  Isabel. 
Many  people  go  to  real  places,  and  never  see 
them  ;  and  many  people  pass  through  this  valley, 
and  never  see  it. 

Florrie.  What  stupid  people  they  must  be  ! 

L.  No,  Florrie.  They  are  much  wiser  than  the 
people  who  do  see  it. 

May.   I  think  I  know  where  it  is. 


8  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Isabel.  Tell  us  more  about  it,  and  then  we'll 
guess. 

L.  Well.  There's  a  great  broad  road,  by  a 
river-side,  leading  up  into  it. 

May  {gravely  cunning,  with  emphasis  on  the  last 
word).   Does  the  road  really  go  upp 

L.  You  think  it  should  go  down  into  a  valley  ? 
No,  it  goes  up  ;  this  is  a  valley  among  the  hills, 
and  it  is  as  high  as  the  clouds,  and  is  often  full  of 
them  ;  so  that  even  the  people  who  most  want  to 
see  it,  cannot,  always. 

Isabel.  And  what  is  the  river  beside  the  road 
like? 

L.  It  ought  to  be  very  beautiful,  because  it 
flows  over  diamond  sand — only  the  water  is  thick 
and  red. 

Isabel.   Red  water  ? 

L.   It  isn't  all  water. 

May.  Oh,  please  never  mind  that,  Isabel,  just 
now  ;  I  want  to  hear  about  the  valley. 

L.  So  the  entrance  to  it  is  very  wide,  under  a 
steep  rock  ;  only  such  numbers  of  people  are  al- 
ways trying  to  get  in,  that  they  keep  jostling  each 
other,  and  manage  it  but  slowly.  Some  weak 
ones  are  pushed  back,  and  never  get  in  at  all ; 
and  make  great  moaning  as  they  go  away  :  but 
perhaps  they  are  none  the  worse  in  the  end. 

May.   And  when  one  gets  in,  what  is  it  like? 

L.   It  is  up  and  down,  broken  kind  of  ground: 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  9 

the  road  stops  directly  ;  and  there  are  great  dark 
rocks,  covered  all  over  with  wild  gourds  and  wild 
vines  ;  the  gourds,  if  you  cut  them,  are  red,  with 
black  seeds,  like  water-melons,  and  look  ever  so 
nice ;  and  the  people  of  the  place  make  a  red  pot- 
tage of  them:  but  you  must  take  care  not  to  eat 
any  if  you  ever  want  to  leave  the  valley  (though  I 
believe  putting  plenty  of  meal  in  it  makes  it  whole- 
some). Then  the  wild  vines  have  clusters  of  the 
color  of  amber ;  and  the  people  of  the  country  say 
they  are  the  grape  of  Eshcol  ;  and  sweeter  than 
honey  :  but,  indeed,  if  anybody  else  tastes  them, 
they  are  like  gall.  Then  there  are  thickets  of 
bramble,  so  thorny  that  they  would  be  cut  away 
directly,  anywhere  else  ;  but  here  they  are  cov- 
ered with  little  cinque-foiled  blossoms  of  pure 
silver ;  and,  for  berries,  they  have  clusters  of 
rubies.  Dark  rubies,  which  you  only  see  are  red 
after  gathering  them.  But  you  may  fancy  what 
blackberry  parties  the  children  have  !  Only  they 
get  their  frocks  and  hands  sadly  torn. 

Lily.  But  rubies  can't  spot  one's  frocks,  as 
blackberries  do  ? 

L.  No  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  spots  them — the 
mulberries.  There  are  great  forests  of  them,  all 
up  the  hills,  covered  with  silkworms,  some  munch- 
ing the  leaves  so  loud  that  it  is  like  mills  at  work  ; 
and  some  spinning.  But  the  berries  are  the  black- 
est you  ever  saw  ;  and,  wherever  they  fall,    they 


lO  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Stain  a  deep  red  ;  and  nothing  ever  washes  it  out 
again.  And  it  is  their  juice,  soaking  through  the 
grass,  which  makes  the  river  so  red,  because  all 
its  springs  are  in  this  wood.  And  the  boughs  of 
the  trees  are  twisted,  as  if  in  pain,  like  old  olive 
branches ;  and  their  leaves  are  dark.  And  it  is  in 
these  forests  that  the  serpents  are  ;  but  nobody  is 
afraid  of  them.  They  have  fine  crimson  crests, 
and  they  are  wreathed  about  the  wild  branches, 
one  in  every  tree,  nearly ;  and  they  are  singing 
serpents,  for  the  serpents  are,  in  this  forest,  what 
birds  are  in  ours. 

Florrie.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  go  there  at  all, 
now. 

L.  You  would  like  it  very  much  indeed,  Flor- 
rie, if  you  were  there.  The  serpents  would  not 
bite  you  ;  the  only  fear  would  be  of  your  turning 
into  one  ! 

Florrie.    Oh,  dear,  but  that's  worse. 

L.  You  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  really  were 
turned  into  one,  Florrie  ;  you  would  be  very 
proud  of  your  crest  And  as  long  as  you  were 
yourself  (not  that  you  could  get  there  if  you  re- 
mained quite  the  little  Florrie  you  are  now), 
you  would  like  to  hear  the  serpents  sing.  They 
hiss  a  little  through  it,  like  the  cicadas  in  Italy  ; 
but  they  keep  good  time,  and  sing  delightful  mel- 
odies ;  and  most  of  them  have  seven  heads,  with 
throats  which  each  take  a  note  of  the  octave  ;  so 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  II 

that  they  can  sing  chords — it  is  very  fine  indeed. 
And  the  fireflies  fly  round  the  edge  of  the  forests 
all  the  night  long ;  you  wade  in  fireflies,  they 
make  the  fields  look  like  a  lake  trembling  with 
reflection  of  stars  ;  but  you  must  take  care  not  to 
touch  them,  for  they  are  not  like  Italian  fireflies, 
but  burn,  like  real  sparks. 

Florrie.  I  don't  like  it  at  all ;  I'll  never  go 
there. 

L.  I  hope  not,  Florrie  ;  or  at  least  that  you 
will  get  out  again  if  you  do.  And  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult to  get  out,  for  beyond  these  serpent  forests 
there  are  great  cliffs  of  dead  gold,  which  form  a 
labyrinth,  winding  always  higher  and  higher,  till 
the  gold  is  all  split  asunder  by  wedges  of  ice  ;  and 
glaciers,  welded,  half  of  ice  seven  times  frozen, 
and  half  of  gold  seven  times  frozen,  hang  down 
from  them,  and  fall  in  thunder,  cleaving  into 
deadly  splinters,  like  the  Cretan  arrowheads  ;  and 
into  a  mixed  dust  of  snow  and  gold,  ponderous, 
yet  which  the  mountain  whirlwinds  are  able  to 
lift  and  drive  in  wreaths  and  pillars,  hiding  the 
paths  with  a  burial  cloud,  fatal  at  once  with 
wintry  chill,  and  weight  of  golden  ashes.  So  the 
wanderers  in  the  labyrinth  fall,  one  by  one,  and 
are  buried  there  : — yet,  over  the  drifted  graves, 
those  who  are  spared  climb  to  the  last,  through 
coil  on  coil  of  the  path  ; — for  at  the  end  of  it  they 
see  the  king  of  the  valley,  sitting  on  his  throne ; 


12  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

and  beside  him  (but  it  is  only  a  false  vision), 
spectra  of  creatures  like  themselves,  set  on  thrones, 
from  which  they  seem  to  look  down  on  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  of  them. 
And  on  the  canopy  of  his  throne  there  is  an  in- 
scription in  fiery  letters,  which  they  strive  to  read, 
but  cannot ;  for  it  is  written  in  words  which  are  like 
the  words  of  all  languages,  and  yet  are  of  none. 
Men  say  it  is  more  like  their  own  tongue  to  the 
English  than  it  is  to  any  other  nation  ;  but  the  only 
record  of  it  is  by  an  Italian,  who  heard  the  king 
himself  cry  it  as  a  war  cry,  '  Pape  Satan,  Pape 
Satan  Aleppe. '  * 

Sibyl.  But  do  they  all  perish  there  ?  You  said 
there  was  a  way  through  the  valley,  and  out  of  it. 

L.  Yes  ;  but  few  find  it.  If  any  of  them  keep 
to  the  grass  paths,  where  the  diamonds  are  swept 
aside  ;  and  hold  their  hands  over  their  eyes  so  as 
not  to  be  dazzled,  the  grass  paths  lead  forward 
gradually  to  a  place  where  one  sees  a  little  open- 
ing in  the  golden  rocks.  You  were  at  Chamouni 
last  year,  Sibyl ;  did  your  guide  chance  to  show 
you  the  pierced  rock  of  the  Aiguille  du  Midi  ? 

Sibyl.  No,  indeed,  we  only  got  up  from  Gen- 
eva on  Monday  night ;  and  it  rained  all  Tuesday  ; 
and  we  had  to  be  back  at  Geneva  again,  early  on 
Wednesday  morning. 

*  Dante,  Inf.  7,  i. 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  1 3 

L,  Of  course.  That  is  the  way  to  see  a  coun- 
try in  a  SibylHne  manner,  by  inner  consciousness: 
but  you  might  have  seen  the  pierced  rock  in  your 
drive  up,  or  down,  if  the  clouds  broke :  not  that 
there  is  much  to  see  in  it ;  one  of  the  crags  of  the 
aiguille-edge,  on  the  southern  slope  of  it,  is  struck 
sharply  through,  as  by  an  awl,  into  a  little  eyelet 
hole;  which  you  may  see,  seven  thousand  feet 
above  the  valley  (as  the  clouds  flit  past  behind  it, 
or  leave  the  sky),  first  white,  and  then  dark  blue. 
Well,  there's  just  such  an  eyelet  hole  in  one  of 
the  upper  crags  of  the  Diamond  Valley  ;  and, 
from  a  distance,  you  think  that  it  is  no  bigger 
than  the  eye  of  a  needle.  But  if  you  get  up  to  it, 
they  say  you  may  drive  a  loaded  camel  through  it, 
and  that  there  are  fine  things  on  the  other  side, 
but  I  have  never  spoken  with  anybody  who  had 
been  through. 

Sibyl.  I  think  we  un4erstand  it  now.  We  will 
try  to  write  it  down,  and  think  of  it. 

L.  Meantime,  Florrie,  though  all  that  I  have 
been  telling  you  is  very  true,  yet  you  must  not 
think  the  sort  of  diamonds  that  people  wear  in 
rings  and  necklaces  are  found  lying  about  on  the 
grass.  Would  you  like  to  see  how  they  really  are 
found } 

Florrie.   Oh,  yes — yes.    , 

L.  Isabel — or  Lily — run  up  to  my  room  and 
fetch  me  the  little  box  with  a  glass  lid,  out  of  the 


14  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

top  drawer  of  the  chest  of  drawers.      {Race  be- 
tween Lily  and  Isabel.  ) 

{Re-enter  Isabel  with  the  box,  very  much  out  of 
breath.     Lily  behind. ) 

L.  Why,  you  never  can  beat  Lily  in  a  race  on 
the  stairs,  can  you,  Isabel  ? 

\sK&Y.\.{panting).  Lily — ^beat  me — ever  so  far — 
but  she  gave  me — the  box — to  carry  in. 

L.   Take  off  the  lid,  then  ;  gently. 

Florrie  {after peeping  in,  disappointed).  There's 
only  a  great  ugly  brown  stone  ! 

L.  Not  much  more  than  that,  certainly,  Florrie, 
if  people  were  wise.  But  look,  it  is  not  a  single 
stone  ;  but  a  knot  of  pebbles  fastened  together  by 
gravel  :  and  in  the  gravel,  or  compressed  sand,  if 
you  look  close,  you  will  see  grains  of  gold  glitter- 
ing everywhere,  all  through  ;  and  then,  do  you  see 
these  two  white  beads,  which  shine,  as  if  they  had 
been  covered  with  grease  ? 

Florrie.    May  I  touch  them  ? 

L.*  Yes  ;  you  will  find  they  are  not  greasy,  only 
very  smooth.  Well,  those  are  the  fatal  jewels ; 
native  here  in  their  dust  with  gold,  so  that  you 
may  see,  cradled  here  together,  the  two  great  ene- 
mies of  mankind, — the  strongest  of  all  malignant 
physical  powers  that  have  tormented  our  race. 

Sibyl.  Is  that  really  so  ?  I  know  they  do  great 
harm  ;  but  do  they  not  also  do  great  good .? 

L.  My  dear  child,  what  good  ?     Was  any  worn- 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  1 5 

an,  do  you  suppose,  ever  the  better  for  possessing 
diamonds  ?  but  how  many  have  been  made  base, 
frivolous,  and  miserable  by  desiring  them  ?  Was 
ever  man  the  better  for  having  coffers  full  of  gold  ? 
But  who  shall  measure  the  guilt  that  is  incurred 
to  fill  them  ?  Look  into  the  history  of  any  civil- 
ised nations  ;  analyse,  with  reference  to  this  one 
cause  of  crime  and  misery,  the  lives  and  thoughts 
of  their  nobles,  priests,  merchants,  and  men  of 
luxurious  life.  Every  other  temptation  is  at  last 
concentrated  into  this  ;  pride,  and  lust,  and  envy, 
and  anger  all  give  up  their  strength  to  avarice. 
The  sin  of  the  whole  world  is  essentially  the  sin 
of  Judas.  Men  do  not  disbelieve  their  Christ ;  but 
they  sell  Him. 

Sibyl.  But  surely  that  is  the  fault  of  human  na- 
ture }  it  is  not  caused  by  the  accident,  as  it  were, 
of  there  being  a  pretty  metal,  like  gold,  to  be 
found  by  digging.  If  people  could  not  find  that, 
would  they  not  find  something  else,  and  quarrel 
for  it  instead  ? 

L.  No.  Wherever  legislators  have  succeeded  in 
excluding,  for  a  time,  jewels  and  precious  metals 
from  among  national  possessions,  the  national 
spirit  has  remained  healthy.  Covetousness  is  npt 
natural  to  man — generosity  is  ;  but  covetousness 
must  be  excited  by  a  special  cause,  as  a  given  dis- 
ease by  a  given  miasma  ;  and  the  essential  nature 
of  a  material  for  the  excitement  of  covetousness  is, 


l6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

that  it  shall  be  a  beautiful  thing  which  can  be  re- 
tained without  a  use.  \ /The  moment  we  can  use 
our  possessions  to  any  good  purpose  ourselves, 
the  instinct  of  communicating  that  use  to  others 
rises]  side  by  side  with  our  power.  If  you  can 
read  a  book  rightly,  you  will  want  others  to  hear 
it ;  if  you  can  enjoy  a  picture  rightly,  you  will 
want  others  to  see  it  :  learn  how  to  manage  a  horse, 
a  plough,  or  a  ship,  and  you  will  desire  to  make 
your  subordinates  good  horsemen,  ploughmen,  or 
sailors  ;  you  will  never  be  able  to  see  the  fine  in- 
strument you  are  master  of,  abused  ;  but,  once  fix 
your  desire  on  anything  useless,  and  all  the  purest 
pride  and  folly  in  your  heart  will  mix  with  the  de- 
sire, and  make  you  at  last  wholly  inhuman,  a 
mere  ugly  lump  of  stomach  and  suckers,  like  a 
cuttle-fish. ) 

Sibyl.  But  surely,  these  two  beautiful  things, 
gold  and  diamonds,  must  have  been  appointed  to 
some  good  purpose  ? 

L.  Quite  conceivably  so,  my  dear  :  as  also 
earthquakes  and  pestilences  ;  but  of  such  ulti- 
mate purposes  we  can  have  no  sight.  The  practi- 
cal, immediate  office  of  the  earthquake  and  pesti- 
lence is  to  slay  us,  like  moths  ;  and,  as  moths,  we 
shall  be  wise  to  live  out  of  their  way.  So,  the 
practical,  immediate  office  of  gold  and  diamonds 
is  the  multiplied  destruction  of  souls  (in  whatever 
sense  you  have  been  taught  to  understand   that 


THE    VALLEY  OF  DIAMONDS.  1/ 

phrase) ;  and  the  paralysis  of  wholesome  human 
effort  and  thought  on  the  face  of  God's  earth  : 
and  a  wise  nation  will  live  out  of  the  way  of  them. 
The  money  which  the  English  habitually  spend  in 
cutting  diamonds  would,  in  ten  years,  if  it  were 
applied  to  cutting  rocks  instead,  leave  no  danger- 
ous reef  nor  difficult  harbour  round  the  whole  island 
coast.  Great  Britain  would  be  a  diamond  worth 
cutting,  indeed,  a  true  piece  of  regalia.  {Leaves 
this  to  their  thoughts  for  a  little  while. )  Then,  also, 
we  poor  mineralogists  might  sometimes  have  the 
chance  of  seeing  a  fine  crystal  of  diamond  un- 
backed by  the  jeweller. 

Sibyl.    Would  it  be  more  beautiful  uncut  ? 

L.  No  ;  but  of  infinite  interest.  We  might  even 
come  to  know  something  about  the  making  of  dia- 
monds. 

Sibyl.  I  thought  the  chemists  could  make  them 
already  .? 

L.  In  very  small  black  crystals,  yes  ;  but  no  one 
knows  how  they  are  formed  where  they  are  found; 
or  if  indeed  they  are  formed  there  at  all.  These, 
in  my  hand,  look  as  if  they  had  been  swept  down 
with  the  gravel  and  gold  ;  only  we  can  trace  the 
gravel  and  gold  to  their  native  rocks,  but  not  the 
diamonds.  Read  the  account  given  of  the  dia- 
mond in  any  good  work  on  mineralogy  ; — you 
will  find  nothing  but  lists  of  localities  of  gravel,  or 
conglomerate  rock  (which  is  only  an  old  indurated 


1 8  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

gravel).  Some  say  it  was  once  a  vegetable  gum  ; 
but  it  may  have  been  charred  wood  ;  but  what 
one  would  like  to  know  is,  mainly,  why  charcoal 
should  make  itself  into  diamonds  in  India,  and 
only  into  black  lead  in  Borrowdale. 

Sibyl.   Are  they  wholly  the  same,  then  ? 

L.  There  is  a  little  iron  mixed  with  our  black 
lead ;  but  nothing  to  hinder  its  crystallisation. 
Your  pencils  in  fact  are  all  pointed  with  formless 
diamond,  though  they  would  be  h  h  h  pencils  to 
purpose,  if  it  crystallised. 

Sibyl.   But  what  is  crystallisation  ? 

L.  A  pleasant  question,  when  one's  half  asleep, 
and  it  has  been  tea  time  these  two  hours.  What 
thoughtless  things  girls  are  ! 

Sybil.  Yes,  we  are  ;  but  we  want  to  know,  for 
all  that. 

L.   My  dear,  it  would  take  a  week  to  tell  you. 

Sybil.   Well,  take  it,  and  tell  us. 

L.  But  nobody  knows  anything  about  it. 

Sibyl.  Then  tell  us  something  that  nobody 
knows. 

L.  Get  along  with  you,  and  tell  Dora  to  make 
tea. 

{The  house  rises  ;  but  0/ course  the  Lecturer 
wanted  to  be  forced  to  lecture  again,  and  was. ) 


Cectnre  2. 
THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS. 


LECTURE  11. 

THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS. 

In  the  large  Schoolroom,  to  which  everybody  has  been  sum- 
moned by  ringing  of  the  great  bell. 

L.  So  you  have  all  actually  come  to  hear  about 
crystallisation  !  I  cannot  conceive  why,  unless 
the  little  ones  think  that  the  discussion  may  in- 
volve some  reference  to  sugar-candy. 

{^Symptoms    of  high    displeasure    among    the 
younger  members  of  council.     IsABKi^frozms 
severely  at  L, ,  and  shakes  her  head  violently. ) 
My  dear  children,  if  you  knew  it,  you  are  your- 
selves, at  this  moment,  as  you  sit  in  your  ranks, 
nothing,  in  the  eye  of  a  mineralogist,  but  a  lovely 
group  of  rosy  sugar-candy,  arranged   by   atomic 
forces.     And  even  admitting  you  to  be  something 
more,  you  have  certainly  been  crystallising  with- 
out knowing  it.      Did  not  I  hear  a  great  hurrying 
and  whispering,  ten  minutes  ago,  when  you  were 
late  in  from  the  playground  ;  and   thought   you 
would  not  all  be  quietly  seated  by  the  time  I  was 

21 


22  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

ready  : — besides  some  discussion  about  places — 
something  about  '  it's  not  being  fair  that  the  little 
ones  should  always  be  nearest  ? '  Well,  you  were 
then  all  being  crystallised.  When  you  ran  in  from 
the  garden,  and  against  one  another  in  the  pas- 
sages, you  were  in  what  mineralogists  would  call  a 
state  of  solution,  and  gradual  confluence ;  when 
you  got  seated  in  those  orderly  rows,  each  in  her 
proper  place,  you  became  crystalline.  That  is 
just  what  the  atoms  of  a  mineral  do,  if  they  can, 
whenever  they  get  disordered  :  they  get  into  order 
again  as  soon  as  may  be. 

I  hope  you  feel  inclined  to  interrupt  me,  and 
say,  *  But  we  know  our  places  ;  how  do  the  atoms 
know  theirs?  And  sometimes  we  dispute  about 
our  places ;  do  the  atoms — (and,  besides,  we 
don't  like  being  compared  to  atoms  at  all) — never 
dispute  about  theirs } '  Two  wise  questions  these, 
if  you  had  a  mind  to  put  them  !  it  was  long  before 
I  asked  them  myself,  of  myself  And  I  will  not 
call  you  atoms  any  more.  May  I  call  you — let 
me  see — "primary  molecules.?"  (General  dissent 
indicated  in  subdued  but  decisive  murmurs. )  No  ! 
not  even,  in  familiar  Saxon, '  dust '  ? 

{Pause,  with  expression  on  faces  of  sorrowful 
doubt ;  hiLY  gives  voice  to  the  general  senti- 
ment in  a  timid  '  Please  don't. ') 

No,  children,  I  won't  call  you  that ;  and  mind, 
as  you  grow  up,  that  you  do  not  get  into  an  idle 


THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS.  2$ 

and  wicked  habit  of  calling  yourselves  that.  You 
are  something  better  than  dust,  and  have  other 
duties  to  do  than  ever  dust  can  do  ;  and  the  bonds 
of  affection  you  will  enter  into  are  better  than 
merely  'getting  into  order,'  But  see  to  it,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  you  always  behave  at  least  as 
well  as  '  dust ; '  remember,  it  is  only  on  compul- 
sion, and  while  it  has  no  free  permission  to  do  as 
it  likes,  that  ?/  ever  gets  out  of  order  ;  but  some- 
times, with  some  of  us,  the  compulsion  has  to  be 
the  other  way — hasn't  it  ?  {Remonstratory  whis- 
pers, expressive  of  opinion  that  the  Lecturer  is 
becoming  too  personal.)  I'm  not  looking  at  any- 
body in  particular — indeed  I  am  not.  Nay,  if 
you  blush  so,  Kathleen,  how  can  one  help  look- 
ing .?     We'll  go  back  to  the  atoms. 

'How  do  they  know  their  places?'  you  asked, 
or  should  have  asked.  Yes,  and  they  have  to  do 
much  more  than  know  them  :  they  have  to  find 
their  way  to  them,  and  that  quietly  and  at  once, 
without  running  against  each  other. 

We  may,  indeed,  state  it  briefly  thus  : — Suppose 
you  have  to  build  a  castle,  with  towers  and  roofs 
and  buttresses,  out  of  bricks  of  a  given  shape, 
and  that  these  bricks  are  all  lying  in  a  huge  heap 
at  the  bottom,  in  utter  confusion,  upset  out  of  carts 
at  random.  You  would  have  to  draw  a  great 
many  plans,  and  count  all  your  bricks,  and  be 
sure  you  had  enough  for  this  and  that  tower,  be- 


24  I^HE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

fore  you  began,  and  then  you  would  have  to  lay 
your  foundation,  and  add  layer  by  layer,  in  order, 
slowly. 

But  how  would  you  be  astonished,  in  these 
melancholy  days,  when  children  don't  read  chil- 
dren's books,  nor  believe  any  more  in  fairies,  if 
suddenly  a  real  benevolent  fairy,  in  a  bright  brick- 
red  gown,  were  to  rise  in  the  midst  of  the  red 
bricks,  and  to  tap  the  heap  of  them  with  her  wand, 
and  say,  '  Bricks,  bricks,  to  your  places  ! '  and 
then  you  saw  in  an  instant  the  whole  heap  rise  in 
the  air,  like  a  swarm  of  red  bees,  and — you  have 
been  used  to  see  bees  make  a  honey  comb,  and 
to  think  that  strange  enough,  but  now  you  would 
see  the  honeycomb  make  itself! — You  want  to 
ask  something,  Florrie,  by  the  look  of  your  eyes. 

Florrie.  Are  they  turned  into  real  bees,  with 
stings  ? 

L.  No,  Florrie ;  you  are  only  to  fancy  flying 
bricks,  as  you  saw  the  slates  flying  from  the  roof 
the  other  day  in  the  storm ;  only  those  slates 
didn't  seem  to  know  where  they  were  going,  and, 
besides,  were  going  where  they  had  no  business  : 
but  my  spell-bound  bricks,  though  they  have  no 
wings,  and  what  is  worse,  no  heads  and  no  eyes, 
yet  find  their  way  in  the  air  just  where  they  should 
settle,  into  towers  and  roofs,  each  flying  to  his 
place  and  fastening  there  at  the  right  moment,  so 
that  every  other  one  shall  fit  to  him  in  his  turn. 


THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS.  2$ 

Lily.  But  who  are  the  fairies,  then,  who  build 
the  crystals  ? 

L.  There  is  one  great  fairy,  Lily,  who  builds 
much  more  than  crystals;  but  she  builds  these 
also.  I  dreamed  that  I  saw  her  building  a  pyra- 
mid, the  other  day,  as  she  used  to  do,  for  the 
Pharaohs. 

Isabel.   But  that  was  only  a  dream? 

L.  Some  dreams  are  truer  than  some  wakings, 
Isabel ;  but  I  won't  tell  it  you  unless  you  like. 

Isabel.   Oh,  please,  please. 

L.  You  are  all  such  wise  children,  there's  no 
talking  to  you  ;  you  won't  believe  anything. 

Lily.  No,  we  are  not  wise,  and  we  will  believe 
anything,  when  you  say  we  ought. 

L.  Well,  it  came  about  this  way.  Sibyl,  do  you 
recollect  that  evening  when  we  had  been  looking 
at  your  old  cave  by  Cumae,  and  wondering  why 
you  didn't  live  there  still  :  and  then  we  wondered 
how  old  you  were  ;  and  Egypt  said  you  wouldn't 
tell,  and  nobody  else  could  tell  but  she  ;  and  you 
laughed — I  thought  very  gaily  for  a  Sibyl — and 
said  you  would  harness  a  flock  of  cranes  for  us, 
and  we  might  fly  over  to  Egypt  if  we  liked,  and 
see. 

Sibyl.  Yes,  and  you  went,  and  couldn't  find 
out  after  all! 

L.  Why,  you  know,  Egypt  had  been  just  doub- 


26  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

ling  that  third  pyramid  of  hers  ;  *  and  making  a 
new  entrance  into  it ;  and  a  fine  entrance  it  was ! 
First,  we  had  to  go  through  an  ante-room,  which 
had  both  its  doors  blocked  up  with  stones ;  and 
then  we  had  three  granite  portcullises  to  pull  up, 
one  after  another ;  and  the  moment  we  had  got 
under  them,  Egypt  signed  to  somebody  above  ; 
and  down  they  came  again  behind  us,  with  a 
roar  like  thunder,  only  louder ;  then  we  got  into 
a  passage  fit  for  nobody  but  rats,  and  Egypt 
wouldn't  go  any  further  herself,  but  said  we  might 
go  on  if  we  liked ;  and  so  we  came  to  a  hole  in 
the  pavement,  and  then  to  a  granite  trap-door 
— and  then  we  thought  we  had  gone  quite  far 
enough,  and  came  back,  and  Egypt  laughed  at  us. 

Egypt.  You  would  not  have  had  me  take  my 
crown  off,  and  stoop  all  the  way  down  a  passage 
fit  only  for  rats  ? 

L.  It  was  not  the  crown,  Egypt — ^}'ou  know 
that  very  well.  It  was  the  flounces  that  would 
not  let  you  go  any  farther.  I  suppose,  however, 
you  wear  them  as  typical  of  the  inundation  of  the 
Nile,  so  it  is  all  right. 

Isabel.  Why  didn't  you  take  me  with  you? 
Where  rats  can  go,  mice  can.  I  wouldn't  have 
come  back. 

L.   No,  mousie ;  you  would  have  gone  on  by 

*  Note  i. 


THE  PYRAMID   BUILDERS.  2/ 

yourself,  and  you  might  have  waked  one  of  Pasht's 
cats,*  and  it  would  have  eaten  you.  I  was  very 
glad  you  were  not  there.  But  after  all  this,  I 
suppose  the  imagination  of  the  heavy  granite 
blocks  and  the  underground  ways  had  troubled 
me,  and  dreams  are  often  shaped  in  a  strange  op- 
position to  the  impressions  that  have  caused  them; 
and  from  all  that  we  had  been  reading  in  Bunsen 
about  stones  that  couldn't  be  lifted  with  levers,  I 
began  to  dream  about  stones  that  lifted  themselves 
with  wings. 

Sybil.   Now  you  must  just  tell  us  all  about  it. 

L.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  standing  beside  the 
lake,  out  of  whose  clay  the  bricks  were  made  for 
the  great  pyramid  of  Asychis.f  They  had  just 
been  all  finished,  and  were  lying  by  the  lake  mar- 
gin, in  long  ridges,  like  waves.  It  was  near  even- 
ing ;  and  as  I  looked  towards  the  sunset,  I  saw  a 
thing  like  a  dark  pillar  standing  where  the  rock  of 
the  desert  stoops  to  the  Nile  valley.  I  did  not 
know  there  was  a  pillar  there,  and  wondered  at  it  ; 
and  it  grew  larger,  and  glided  nearer,  becoming 
like  the  form  of  a  man,  but  vast,  and  it  did  not 
move  its  feet,  but  glided,  like  a  pillar  of  sand. 
And  as  it  drew  nearer,  I  looked  by  chance  past  it, 
towards  the  sun  ;  and  saw  a  silver  cloud,  which 
was  of  all  the  clouds  closest  to  the  sun  (and  in  one 

*  Note  iii.  \  Note  ii. 


28  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

place  crossed  it),  draw  itself  back  from  the  sun, 
suddenly.  And  it  turned,  and  shot  towards  the 
dark  pillar  ;  leaping  in  an  arch,  like  an  arrow  out 
of  a  bow.  And  I  thought  it  was  lightning ;  but 
when  it  came  near  the  shadowy  pillar,  it  sank 
slowly  down  beside  it,  and  changed  into  the  shape 
of  a  woman,  very  beautiful,  and  with  a  strength 
of  deep  calm  in  her  blue  eyes.  She  was  robed  to 
the  feet  with  a  white  robe  ;  and  above  that,  to  her 
knees,  by  the  cloud  which  I  had  seen  across  the 
sun  ;  but  all  the  golden  ripples  of  it  had  become 
plumes,  so  that  it  had  changed  into  two  bright 
wings  like  those  of  a  vulture,  which  wrapped  round 
her  to  her  knees.  She  had  a  weaver's  shuttle  hang- 
ing over  her  shoulder,  by  the  thread  of  it,  and  in 
her  left  hand,  arrows,  tipped  with  fire. 

Isabel  {clapping  her  hands).  Oh!  itwasNeith, 
it  was  Neith  !  I  know  now. 

L.  Yes;  it  was  Neith  herself;  and  as  the  two 
great  spirits  came  nearer  to  me,  I  saw  they  were 
the  Brother  and  Sister — the  pillared  shadow  was 
the  Greater  Pthah.  *  And  I  heard  them  speak,  and 
the  sound  of  their  words  was  like  a  distant  singing. 
I  could  not  understand  the  words  one  by  one ;  yet 
their  sense  came  to  me  ;  and  so  I  knew  that  Neith 
had  come  down  to  see  her  brother's  work,  and  the 
work  that  he  had  put  into  the  mind  of  the  king  to 

*  Note  iii. 


THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS.  29 

make  his  servants  do.  And  she  was  displeased  at 
it ;  because  she  saw  only  pieces  of  dark  clay  ;  and 
no  porphyry,  nor  marble,  nor  any  fair  stone  that 
men  might  engrave  the  figures  of  the  gods  upon. 
And  she  blamed  her  brother,  and  said,  '  Oh,  Lord 
of  truth  !  is  this  then  thy  will,  that  men  should 
mould  only  four-square  pieces  of  clay  :  and  the 
forms  of  the  gods  no  more  ? '  Then  the  Lord  of 
truth  sighed,  and  said,  '  Oh  !  sister,  in  truth  they 
do  not  love  us  ;  why  should  they  set  up  our  images  ? 
Let  them  do  what  they  may,  and  not  lie — let  them 
make  their  clay  four-square  ;  and  labour ;  and 
perish. ' 

Then  Neith's  dark  blue  eyes  grew  darker,  and 
she  said,  *  Oh,  Lord  of  truth  !  why  should  they 
love  us .''  their  love  is  vain  ;  or  fear  us  ?  for  their 
fear  is  base.  Yet  let  them  testify  of  us,  that  they 
knew  we  lived  for  ever.' 

But  the  Lord  of  truth  answered,  '  They  know, 
and  yet  they  know  not.  Let  them  keep  silence ; 
for  their  silence  only  is  truth.' 

But  Neith  answered,  *  Brother,  wilt  thou  also 
make  league  with  Death,  because  Death  is  true  ? 
Oh  !  thou  potter,  who  hast  cast  these  human  things 
from  thy  wheel,  many  to  dishonour,  and  few  to 
honour  ;  wilt  thou  not  let  them  so  much  as  see 
my  face  ;  but  slay  them  in  slavery  ? ' 

But  Pthah  only  answered,  *  Let  them  build,  sis- 
ter, let  them  build.' 


30  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

And  Neith  answered,  '  What  shall  they  build,  if 
I  build  not  with  them  ? ' 

And  Pthah  drew  with  his  measuring  rod  upon 
the  sand.  And  I  saw  suddenly,  drawn  on  the 
sand,  the  outlines  of  great  cities,  and  of  vaults, 
and  domes,  and  aqueducts,  and  bastions,  and 
towers,  greater  than  obelisks,  covered  with  black 
clouds.  And  the  wind  blew  ripples  of  sand  amidst 
the  lines  that  Pthah  drew,  and  the  moving  sand  was 
like  the  marching  of  men.  But  I  saw  that  wherever 
Neith  looked  at  the  lines,  they  faded,  and  were 
effaced. 

'Oh,  Brother  !' she  said  at  last,  'what  is  this 
vanity  ?  If  I,  who  am  Lady  of  wisdom,  do  not 
mock  the  children  of  men,  why  shouldst  thou 
mock  them,  who  art  Lord  of  truth  ? '  But  Pthah 
answered,  '  They  thought  to  bind  me  ;  and  they 
shall  be  bound.  They  shall  labour  in  the  fire  for 
vanity. ' 

And  Neith  said,  looking  at  the  sand,  '  Brother, 
there  is  no  true  labour  here — there  is  only  weary 
life  and  wasteful  death.' 

And  Pthah  answered,  '  Is  it  not  truer  labour, 
sister,  than  thy  sculpture  of  dreams .-'  ' 

Then  Neith  smiled ;  and  stopped  suddenly. 

She  looked  to  the  sun  ;  its  edge  touched  the 
horizon-edge  of  the  desert.  Then  she  looked  to 
the  long  heaps  of  pieces  of  clay,  that  lay,  each 
with  its  blue  shadow,  by  the  lake  shore. 


THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS.  %1 

'  Brother,'  she  said,  '  how  long  will  this  pyramid 
of  thine  be  in  building?' 

'  Thoth  will  have  sealed  the  scroll  of  the  years 
ten  times,  before  the  summit  is  laid.' 

'  Brother,  thou  knowest  not  how  to  teach  thy 
children  to  labour,'  answered  Neith.  'Look! 
I  must  follow  Phre  beyond  Atlas  ;  shall  I  build 
your  pyramid  for  you  before  he  goes  down  ? '  And 
Pthah  answered,  'Yea,  sister,  if  thou  canst  put 
thy  winged  shoulders  to  such  work.'  And  Neith 
drew  herself  to  her  height ;  and  I  heard  a  clashing 
pass  through  the  plumes  of  her  wings,  and  the  asp 
stood  up  on  her  helmet,  and  fire  gathered  in  her 
eyes.  And  she  took  one  of  the  flaming  arrows  out 
of  the  sheaf  in  her  left  hand,  and  stretched  it  out 
over  the  heaps  of  clay.  And  they  rose  up  like 
flights  of  locusts,  and  spread  themselves  in  the  air, 
so  that  it  grew  dark  in  a  moment.  Then  Neith 
designed  them  places  with  her  arrow  point ;  and 
they  drew  into  ranks,  like  dark  clouds  laid  level 
at  morning.  Then  Neith  pointed  with  her  arrow 
to  the  north,  and  to  the  south,  and  to  the  east, 
and  to  the  west,  and  the  flying  motes  of  earth  drew 
asunder  into  four  great  ranked  crowds  ;  and  stood, 
one  in  the  north,  and  one  in  the  south,  and  one 
in  the  east,  and  one  in  the  west — one  against  an- 
other. Then  Neith  spread  her  wings  wide  for  an 
instant,  and  closed  them  with  a  sound  like  the 
sound   of  a  rushing  sea ;  and   waved  her  hand 


32  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

towards  the  foundation  of  the  pyramid,  where  it 
was  laid  on  the  brow  of  the  desert.  And  the  four 
flocks  drew  together  and  sank  down,  like  sea-birds 
settling  to  a  level  rock,  and  when  they  met,  there 
was  a  sudden  flame,  as  broad  as  the  pyramid,  and 
as  high  as  the  clouds  ;  and  it  dazzled  me  ;  and  I 
closed  my  eyes  for  an  instant ;  and  when  I  looked 
again,  the  pyramid  stood  on  its  rock,  perfect  ; 
and  purple  with  the  light  from  the  edge  of  the 
sinking  sun. 

The  younger  Children  {variously  pleased).  I'm 
so  glad  !     How  nice  !     But  what  did  Pthah  say  ? 

L.  Neith  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  he  would 
say.  When  I  turned  back  to  look  at  her,  she  was 
gone  ;  and  I  only  saw  the  level  white  cloud  form 
itself  again,  close  to  the  arch  of  the  sun  as  it  sank. 
And  as  the  last  edge  of  the  sun  disappeared,  the 
form  of  Pthah  faded  into  a  mighty  shadow,  and  so 
passed  away. 

Egypt.  And  was  Neith's  pyramid  left? 

L.  Yes  ;  but  you  could  not  think,  Egypt,  what 
a  strange  feeling  of  utter  loneliness  came  over  me 
when  the  presence  of  the  two  gods  passed  away. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
be  alone  before  ;  and  the  unbroken  line  of  the 
desert  was  terrible. 

Egypt.  I  used  to  feel  that,  when  I  was  queen  : 
sometimes  I  had  to  carve  gods,  for  company,  all 


THE  PYRAMID   BUILDERS.  33 

over  my  palace.     I   would   fain   have  seen  real 
ones,  if  I  could. 

L.  But  listen  a  moment  yet,  for  that  was  not 
quite  all  my  dream.  The  twilight  drew  swiftly  to 
the  dark,  and  I  could  hardly  see  the  great  pyra- 
mid ;  when  there  came  a  heavy  murmuring  sound 
in  the  air  ;  and  a  horned  beetle,  with  terrible 
claws,  fell  on  the  sand  at  my  feet,  with  a  blow 
like  the  beat  of  a  hammer.  Then  it  stood  up  on 
its  hind  claws,  and  waved  its  pincers  at  me  :  and 
its  fore  claws  became  strong  arms,  and  hands ; 
one  grasping  real  iron  pincers,  and  the  other  a 
huge  hammer  ;  and  it  had  a  helmet  on  its  head, 
without  any  eyelet  holes,  that  I  could  see.  And 
its  two  hind  claws  became  strong  crooked  legs, 
with  feet  bent  inwards.  And  so  there  stood  by  me 
a  dwarf,  in  glossy  black  armour,  ribbed  and  em- 
bossed like  a  beetle's  back,  leaning  on  his  hammer. 
And  I  could  not  speak  for  wonder  ;  but  he  spoke 
with  a  murmur  like  the  dying  away  of  a  beat 
upon  a  bell.  He  said,  *  I  will  make  Neith's  great 
pyramid  small.  I  am  the  lower  Pthah ;  and  have 
power  over  fire.  I  can  wither  the  strong  things, 
and  strengthen  the  weak  ;  and  everything  that  is 
great  I  can  make  small,  and  everything  that  is  lit- 
tle I  can  make  great.'  Then  he  turned  to  the 
angle  of  the  pyramid  and  limped  towards  it.  And 
the  pyramid  grew  deep  purple  ;  and  then  red  like 
blood,  and  then  pale  rose-colour,  like  fire.     And 


34      THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

I  saw  that  it  glowed  with  fire  from  within.  And 
the  lower  Pthah  touched  it  with  the  hand  that 
held  the  pincers  ;  and  it  sank  down  like  the  sand 
in  an  hour-glass, — then  drew  itself  together,  and 
sank,  still,  and  became  nothing,  it  seemed  to  me ; 
but  the  armed  dwarf  stooped  down,  and  took  it 
into  his  hand,  and  brought  it  to  me,  saying, 
'Everything  that  is  great  I  can  make  like  this 
pyramid  ;  and  give  into  men's  hands  to  destroy. ' 
And  I  saw  that  he  had  a  little  pyramid  in  his 
hand,  with  as  many  courses  in  it  as  the  large  one  ; 
and  built  like  that, — only  so  small.  And  because 
it  glowed  still,  I  was  afraid  to  touch  it ;  but  Pthah 
said,  '  Touch  it — for  I  have  bound  the  fire  within 
it,  so  that  it  cannot  bum.'  So  I  touched  it,  and 
took  it  into  my  own  hand  ;  and  it  was  cold ;  only 
red,  like  a  ruby.  And  Pthah  laughed,  and  became 
like  a  beetle  again,  and  buried  himself  in  the  sand, 
fiercely ;  throwing  it  back  over  his  shoulders. 
And  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  would  draw  me 
down  with  him  into  the  sand  ;  and  I  started  back, 
and  woke,  holding  the  little  pyramid  so  fast  in  my 
hand  that  it  hurt  me. 

Egypt.   Holding  what  in  your  hand  ? 

L.   The  little  pyramid. 

Egypt.   Neith's  pyramid  ? 

L.  Neith's,  I  believe  ;  though  not  built  for  Asy- 
chis.  I  know  orily  that  it  is  a  little  rosy  transpar- 
ent pyramid,  built  of  more  courses  of  bricks  than 


THE  PYRAMID  BUILDERS.  35 

I  can  count,  it  being  made  so  small.  You  don't 
believe  me,  of  course,  Egyptian  infidel  ;  but  there 
it  is.      {Giving  crystal  0/ rose  Fluor. ) 

{Con/used  examination  by  crowded  audience,  over 
each  other's  shoulders  and  under  each  other's  arms. 
Disappointment  begins  to  manifest  itself. ) 

Sibyl  {not  quite  knowing  why  she  and  others  Are 
disappointed).  But  you  showed  us  this  the  other 
day  1 

L.  Yes  ;  but  you  would  not  look  at  it  the  other 
day. 

Sibyl.  But  was  all  that  fine  dream  only  about 
this? 

L.  What  finer  thing  could  a  dream  be  about 
than  this  ?  It  is  small,  if  you  will ;  but  when  you 
begin  to  think  of  things  rightly,  the  ideas  of  small- 
ness  and  largeness  pass  away.  The  making  of 
this  pyramid  was  in  reality  just  as  wonderful  as  the 
dream  I  have  been  telling  you,  and  just  as  incom- 
prehensible. It  was  not,  I  suppose,  as  swift,  but 
quite  as  grand  things  are  done  as  swiftly.  When 
Neith  makes  crystals  of  snow,  it  needs  a  great  deal 
more  marshalling  of  the  atoms,  by  her  flaming  ar- 
rows, than  it  does  to  make  crystals  like  this  one ; 
and  that  is  done  in  a  moment. 

Egypt.  But  how  you  do  puzzle  us !  Why  do 
you  say  Neith  does  it  ?  You  don't  mean  that  she 
is  a  real  spirit,  do  you  ? 

L.  What /mean,  is  of  little  consequence.  What 


36  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

the  Egyptians  meant,  who  called  her  '  Neith, ' — 
or  Homer,  who  called  her  'Athena,' — or  Solo- 
mon, who  called  her  by  a  word  which  the  Greeks 
render  as  'Sophia,'  you  must  judge  for  your- 
selves. But  her  testimony  is  always  the  same,  and 
all  nations  have  received  it :  'I  was  by  Him  as 
one  brought  up  with  Him,  and  I  was  daily  His 
delight ;  rejoicing  in  the  habitable  parts  of  the 
earth,  and  my  delights  were  with  the  sons  of 
men.' 

Mary.    But  is  not  that  only  a  personification .? 

L.  If  it  be,  what  will  you  gain  by  unpersoni- 
fying  it,  or  what  right  have  you  to  do  so .? 
Cannot  you  accept  the  image  given  you,  in  its 
life  ;  and  listen,  like  children,  to  the  words  which 
chiefly  belong  to  you  as  children  :  '  I  love  them 
that  love  me,  and  those  that  seek  me  early  shall 
find  me '  ? 

{They  are  all  quiet  for  a  m'nute  or  two  ;  ques- 
tions begin  to  appear  in  their  eyes. ) 

I  cannot  talk  to  you  any  more  to-day.  Take 
that  rose-crystal  away  with  you,  and  think. 


lecture  3. 
THE  CRYSTAL  LIFE. 


LECTURE  III. 

THE  CRYSTAL  LIFE. 

A  very  dull  Lecture,  wilfully  brought  upon  them- 
selves by  the  elder  children.  Some  of  the  young 
ones  have,  however,  managed  to  get  in  by  mistake. 
Scene,  the  Schoolroom. 

L.  So  I  am  to  stand  up  here  merely  to  be  asked 
questions,  to-day,  Miss  Mary,  am  I? 

Mary.  Yes;  and  you  must  answer  them  plainly  ; 
without  telling  us  any  more  stories.  You  are 
quite  spoiling  the  children  :  the  poor  little  things' 
heads  are  turning  round  like  kaleidoscopes  ;  and 
they  don't  know  in  the  least  what  you  mean. 
Nor  do  we  old  ones,  either,  for  that  matter  :  to- 
day you  must  really  tell  us  nothing  but  facts. 

L.   I  am  sworn  ;  but  you  won't  like  it,  a  bit. 

Mary.  Now,  first  of  all,  what  do  you  mean  by 
'  bricks '  ? — Are  the  smallest  particles  of  minerals 
all  of  some  accurate  shape,  like  bricks  ? 

L.  I  do  not  know.  Miss  Mary ;  I  do  not  even 
know   if  anybody   knows.     The  smallest   atoms 

39 


40  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

which  are  visibly  and  practically  put  together  to 
make  large  crystals,  may  better  be  described  as 
'  limited  in  fixed  directions'  than  as  '  of  fixed  forms. ' 
But  I  can  tell  you  nothing  clea;  about  ultimate 
atoms  :  you  will  find  the  idea  of  little  bricks,  or, 
perhaps,  of  little  spheres,  available  for  all  the  uses 
you  will  have  to  put  it  to. 

Mary.  Well,  it's  very  provoking ;  one  seems  al- 
ways to  be  stopped  just  when  one  is  coming  to  the 
very  thing  one  wants  to  know. 

L.  No,  Mary,  for  we  should  not  wish  to  know 
anything  but  what  is  easily  and  assuredly  knowable. 
There's  no  end  to  it.  If  I  could  show  you,  or 
myself,  a  group  of  ultimate  atoms,  quite  clearly,  in 
this  magnifying  glass,  we  should  both  be  presently 
vexed  because  we  could  not  break  them  in  two 
pieces,  and  see  their  insides. 

Mary.  Well  then,  next,  what  do  you  mean  by 
the  flying  of  the  bricks  ?  What  is  it  the  atoms  do, 
that  is  like  flying  ? 

L.  When  they  are  dissolved,  or  uncrystallised, 
they  are  really  separated  from  each  other,  like  a 
swarm  of  gnats  in  the  air,  or  like  a  shoal  of  fish  in 
the  sea  ; — generally  at  about  equal  distances.  In 
currents  of  solutions,  or  at  different  depths  of  them, 
one  part  may  be  more  full  of  the  dissolved  atoms 
than  another  ;  but  on  the  whole,  you  may  think 
of  them  as  equidistant,  like  the  spots  in  the  print 
of  your  gown.     If  they  are  separated  by  force  of 


THE   CRYSTAL  LIFE.  4I 

heat  only,  the  substance  is  said  to  be  melted  ;  if 
they  are  separated  by  any  other  substance,  as  par- 
ticles of  sugar  by  water,  they  are  said  to  be  '  dis- 
solved.' Note  this  distinction  carefully,  all  of 
you. 

Dora.  I  will  be  very  particular.  When  next 
you  tell  me  there  isn't  sugar  enough  in  your  tea,  I 
will  say,  '  It  is  not  yet  dissolved,  sir.' 

L.  I  tell  you  what  shall  be  dissolved,  Miss  Dora; 
and  that's  the  present  parliament,  if  the  members 
get  too  saucy. 

{YioviK  folds  her  hands  and  casts  down  her  eyes.) 

L.  (proceeds  in  stale).  Now,  Miss  Mary,  you 
know  already,  I  believe,  that  nearly  everything 
will  melt,  under  a  sufficient  heat,  like  wax.  Lime- 
stone melts  (under  pressure);  sand  melts  ;  granite 
melts ;  the  lava  of  a  volcano  is  a  mixed  mass  of 
many  kinds  of  rocks,  melted  :  and  any  melted  sub- 
stance nearly  always,  if  not  always,  crystallises  as 
it  cools ;  the  more  slowly  the  more  perfectly. 
Water  melts  at  what  we  call  the  freezing,  but  might 
just  as  wisely,  though  not  as  conveniently,  call  the 
melting,  point ;  and  radiates  as  it  cools  into  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  known  crystals.  Glass  melts 
at  a  greater  heat,  and  will  crystallise,  if  you  let  it 
cool  slowly  enough,  in  stars,  much  like  snow. 
Gold  needs  more  heat  to  melt  it,  but  crystallises 
also  exquisitely,  as  I  will  presently  show  you. 
Arsenic  and  sulphur  crystallise  from  their  vapours. 


42  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Now  in  any  of  these  cases,  either  of  melted,  dis- 
solved, or  vaporous  bodies,  the  particles  are  usual- 
ly separated  from  each  other,  either  by  heat,  or  by 
an  intermediate  substance ;  and  in  crystallising 
they  are  both  brought  nearer  to  each  other,  and 
packed,  so  as  to  fit  as  closely  as  possible  :  the  es- 
sential part  of  the  business  being  not  the  bringing 
together,  but  the  packing.  Who  packed  your 
trunk  for  you,  last  holidays,  Isabel  ? 

Isabel.   Lily  does,  always. 

L.  And  how  much  can  you  allow  for  Lily's  good 
packing,  in  guessing  what  will  go  into  the  trunk  .? 

Isabel.  Oh  !  I  bring  twice  as  much  as  the 
trunk  holds.      Lily  always  gets  everything  in. 

Lily.  Ah  1  but,  Isey,  if  you  only  knew  what  a 
time  it  takes  !  and  since  you've  had  those  great 
hard  buttons  on  your  frocks,  I  can't  do  anything 
with  them.  Buttons  won't  go  anywhere,  you 
know. 

L.  Yes,  Lily,  it  would  be  well  if  she  only  knew 
w'hat  a  time  it  takes ;  and  I  wish  any  of  us  knew 
what  a  time  crystallisation  takes,  for  that  is  con- 
summately fine  packing.  The  particles  of  the 
rock  are  thrown  down,  ji^t  as  Isabel  brings  her 
things — in  a  heap  ;  and  innumerable  Lilies,  not 
of  the  valley,  but  of  the  rock,  come  to  pack  them. 
But  it  takes  such  a  time  ! 

However,  the  best — out  and  out  the  best — way 


THE   CRYSTAL  LIFE.  43 

of  understanding  the  thing,  is  to  crystallise  your- 
selves. 

The  Audience.   Ourselves  ! 

L.  Yes  ;  not  merely  as  you  did  the  other  day, 
carelessly  on  the  schoolroom  forms  ;  but  carefully 
and  finely,  out  in  the  playground.  You  can  play 
at  crystallisation  there  as  much  as  you  please. 

Kathleen  a«</ Jessie.   Oh!  how? — how? 

L.  First,  you  must  put  yourselves  together,  as 
close  as  you  can,  in  the  middle  of  the  grass,  and 
form,  for  first  practice,  any  figure  you  like. 

Jessie.   Any  dancing  figure,  do  you  mean  ? 

L.  No  ;  I  mean  a  square,  or  a  cross,  or  a  dia- 
mond. Any  figure  you  like,  standing  close  to- 
gether. You  had  better  outline  it  first  on  the 
turf,  with  sticks,  or  pebbles,  so  as  to  see  that  it  is 
rightly  drawn  ;  then  get  into  it  and  enlarge  or  di- 
minish it  at  one  side,  till  you  are  all  quite  in  it, 
and  no  empty  space  left. 

Dora.   Crinoline  and  all  ? 

L.  The  crinoline  may  stand  eventually  for 
rough  crystalline  surface,  unless  you  pin  it  in  ; 
and  then  you  may  make  a  polished  crystal  of 
yourselves. 

Lily.   Oh,  we'll  pin  it  in — we'll  pin  it  in  ! 

L.  Then,  when  you  are  all  in  the  figure,  let 
every  one  note  her  place,  and  who  is  next  her  on 
each  side  ;  and  let  the  outsiders  count  how  many 
places  they  stand  from  the  corners. 


44  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE   DUST. 

Kathleen.   Yes,  yes, — and  then  ? 

L.  Then  you  must  scatter  all  over  the  play- 
ground— right  over  it  from  side  to  side,  and  end 
to  end ;  and  put  yourselves  all  at  equal  distances 
from  each  other,  everywhere.  You  needn't  mind 
doing  it  very  accurately,  but  so  as  to  be  nearly 
equidistant ;  not  less  than  about  three  yards  apart 
from  each  other,  on  every  side. 

Jessie.  We  can  easily  cut  pieces  of  string  of 
equal  length,  to  hold.     And  then  ? 

L.  Then,  at  a  given  signal,  let  everybody  walk, 
at  the  same  rate,  towards  the  outlined  figure  in 
the  middle.  You  had  better  sing  as  you  walk  ; 
that  will  keep  you  in  good  time.  And  as  you 
close  in  towards  it,  let  each  take  her  place, 
and  the  next  comers  fit  themselves  in  beside  the 
first  ones,  till  you  are  all  in  the  figure  again. 

Kathleen.  Oh  !  how  we  shall  run  against  each 
other.     What  fun  it  will  be  ! 

L.  No,  no,  Miss  Katie  ;  I  can't  allow  any  run- 
ning against  each  other.  The  atoms  never  do 
that,  whatever  human  creatures  do.  You  must 
all  know  your  places,  and  find  your  way  to  them 
without  jostling. 

Lily.   But  how  ever  shall  we  do  that  ? 

Isabel.  Mustn't  the  ones  in  the  middle  be  the 
nearest,  and  the  outside  ones  farther  oflf — when  we 
go  away  to  scatter,  I  mean  ? 

L.   Yes  ;  you  must  be  very  careful  to  keep  your 


THE    CRYSTAL  LIFE.  45 

order ;  you  will  soon  find  out  how  to  do  it ;  it  is 
only  like  soldiers  forming  square,  except  that  each 
must  stand  still  in  her  place  as  she  reaches  it,  and 
the  others  come  round  her  ;  and  you  will  have 
much  more  complicated  figures,  afterwards,  to 
form,  than  squares. 

Isabel.  I'll  put  a  stone  at  my  place  :  then  I 
shall  know  it. 

L.  You  might  each  nail  a  bit  of  paper  to  the 
turf,  at  your  place,  with  your  name  upon  it  :  but 
it  would  be  of  no  use,  for  if  you  don't  know  your 
places,  you  will  make  a  fine  piece  of  business  of 
it,  while  you  are  looking  for  your  names.  And, 
Isabel,  if  with  a  little  head,  and  eyes,  and  a  brain 
(all  of  them  very  good  and  serviceable  of  their 
kind,  as  such  things  go),  you  think  you  cannot 
know  your  place  without  a  stone  at  it,  after  exam- 
ining it  well, — how  do  you  think  each  atom 
knows  its  place,  when  it  never  was  there  before, 
and  there's  no  stone  at  it? 

Isabel.   But  does  every  atom  know  its  place  ? 

L.    How  else  could  it  get  there? 

Mary.   Are  they  not  attracted  into  their  places  ? 

L.  Cover  a  piece  of  paper  with  spots,  at  equal 
intervals  ;  and  then  imagine  any  kind  of  attrac- 
tion you  choose,  or  any  law  of  attraction,  to  exist 
between  the  spots,  and  try  how,  on  that  permitted 
supposition,  you  can  attract  thern  into  the  figure 
of  a  Maltese  cross,  in  the  middle  of  the  paper. 


46  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  PUST. 

Mary  {having  tried  if).  Yes  ;  I  see  that  I  can- 
not : — one  would  need  all  kinds  of  attractions,  in 
different  ways,  at  different  places.  But  you  do 
not  mean  that  the  atoms  are  alive  ? 

L.  What  is  it  to  be  alive  ? 

Dora.  There  now  ;  you're  going  to  be  provok- 
ing, I  know. 

L.  I  do  not  see  why  it  should  be  provoking  to 
be  asked  what  it  is  to  be  alive.  Do  you  think  you 
don't  know  whether  you  are  alive  or  not  ? 

(Isabel  skips  to  the  end  of  the  room  and  back. ) 

L.  Yes,  Isabel,  that's  all  very  fine ;  and  you  and 
I  may  call  that  being  alive  :  but  a  modern  philoso- 
pher calls  it  being  in  a  'mode  of  motion.'  It 
requires  a  certain  quantity  of  heat  to  take  you  to 
the  sideboard  ;  and  exactly  the  same  quantity  to 
bring  you  back  again.     That's  all. 

Isabel.  No,  it  isn't.  And  besides,  I'm  not 
hot. 

L.  I  am,  sometimes,  at  the  way  they  talk. 
However,  you  know,  Isabel,  you  might  have  been 
a  particle  of  a  mineral,  and  yet  have  been  carried 
round  the  room,  or  anywhere  else,  by  chemical 
forces,  in  the  liveliest  way. 

Isabel.  Yes ;  but  I  wasn't  carried  :  I  carried 
myself 

L.  The  fact  is,  mousie,  the  difficulty  is  not  so 
much  to  say  what  makes  a  thing  alive,  as  what 
makes  it  a  Self     As  soon  as  you  are  shut  off  from 


THE    CRYSTAL  LIFE.  4/ 

the  rest  of  the  universe  into  a  Self,  you  begin  to 
be  alive. 

Violet  {indignant).  Oh,  surely — surely  that 
cannot  be  so.  Is  not  all  the  life  of  the  soul  in 
communion,  not  separation  ? 

L.  There  can  be  no  communion  where  there  is 
no  distinction.  But  we  shall  be  in  an  abyss  of 
metaphysics  presently,  if  we  don't  look  out ;  and 
besides,  we  must  not  be  too  grand,  to-day,  for  the 
younger  children.  We'll  be  grand,  some  day,  by 
ourselves,  if  we  must.  {The  younger  children  are 
not  pleased,  and  prepare  to  remonstrate  ;  but,  know- 
ing by  experience,  that  all  conversations  in  which  the 
word  '  communion  '  occurs,  are  unintelligible,  think 
better  of  it. )  Meantime,  for  broad  answer  about 
the  atoms.  I  do  not  think  we  should  use  the 
word  'life,'  of  any  energy  which  does  not  belong 
to  a  given  form.  A  seed,  or  an  Q%'g,  or  a  young 
animal,  are  properly  called  '  alive '  with  respect 
to  the  force  belonging  to  those  forms,  which  con- 
sistently developes  that  form,  and  no  other.  But 
the  force  which  crystallises  a  mineral  appears  to 
be  chiefly  external,  and  it  does  not  produce  an  en- 
tirely determinate  and  individual  form,  limited  in 
size,  but  only  an  aggregation,  in  which  some  lim- 
iting laws  must  be  observed. 

Mary.  But  I  do  not  see  much  difference,  that 
way,  between  a  crystal  and  a  tree. 

L.  Add,  then,  that  the  mode  of  the  energy  in 


48  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

a  living  thing  implies  a  continual  change  in  its 
elements  ;  and  a  period  foi  its  end.  So  you  may 
define  life  by  its  attached  negative,  death ;  and 
still  more  by  its  attached  positive,  birth.  But  I 
won't  be  plagued  any  more  about  this,  just  now  ; 
if  you  choose  to  think  the  crystals  alive,  do,  and 
welcome.  Rocks  have  always  been  called  'liv- 
ing' in  their  native  place. 

Mary.  There's  one  question  more ;  then  I've 
done. 

L.  Only  one  ? 

Mary.   Only  one. 

L.   But  if  it  is  answered,  won't  it  turn  into  two  ? 

Mary.  No  ;  I  think  it  will  remain  single,  and 
be  comfortable. 

L.   Let  me  heaj  it 

Mary.  You  know,  we  are  to  crystallise  ourselves 
out  of  the  whole  playground.  Now,  what  play- 
ground have  the  minerals  !  Where  are  they  scat- 
tered before  they  are  crystallised  ;  and  where  are 
the  cr}'Stals  generally  made .? 

L.  That  sounds  to  me  more  like  three  questions 
than  one,  Mary.  If  it  is  only  one,  it  is  a  wide 
one. 

Mary.  I  did  not  say  anything  about  the  width 
of  it. 

L.  Well,  I  must  keep  it  within  the  best  compass 
I  can.  When  rocks  either  dry  from  a  moist  state, 
or  cool  from  a  heated  state,  they  necessarily  alter 


THE    CRYSTAL  LIFE.  49 

in  bulk ;  and  cracks,  or  open  spaces,  form  in  them 
in  all  directions.  These  cracks  must  be  filled  up 
with  solid  matter,  or  the  rock  would  eventually 
become  a  ruinous  heap.  So,  sometimes  by  water, 
sometimes  by  vapour,  sometimes  nobody  knows 
how,  crystallisable  matter  is  brought  from  some- 
where, and  fastens  itself  in  these  open  spaces,  so 
as  to  bind  the  rock  together  again  with  crystal 
cement.  A  vast  quantity  of  hollows  are  formed 
in  lavas  by  bubbles  of  gas,  just  as  the  holes  are 
left  in  bread  well  baked.  In  process  of  time  these 
cavities  are  generally  filled  with  various  crystals. 

Mary.  But  where  does  the  crystallising  sub- 
stance come  from  ? 

L.  Sometimes  out  of  the  rock  itself;  sometimes 
from  below  or  above,  through  the  veins.  The 
entire  substance  of  the  contracting  rock  may  be 
filled  with  liquid,  pressed  into  it  so  as  to  fill  every 
pore ; — or  with  mineral  vapour  ; — or  it  may  be  so 
charged  at  one  place,  and  empty  at  another. 
There's  no  end  to  the  'may  he's.'  But  all  that 
you  need  fancy,  for  our  present  purpose,  is  that 
hollows  in  the  rocks,  like  the  caves  in  Derbyshire, 
are  traversed  by  liquids  or  vapour  containing  cer- 
tain elements  in  a  more  or  less  free  or  separate 
state,  which  crystallise  on  the  cave  walls. 

Sibyl.  There  now ; — Mary  has  had  all  her 
questions  answered  :  it's  my  turn  to  have  mine. 


50  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

L.  Ah,  there's  a  conspiracy  among  you,  I  see. 
I  might  have  guessed  as  much. 

Dora,  I'm  sure  you  ask  us  questions  enough  ! 
How  can  you  have  the  heart,  when  you  dislike  so 
to  be  asked  them  yourself? 

L,  My  dear  child,  if  people  do  not  answer 
questions,  it  does  not  matter  how  many  they  are 
asked,  because  rney've  no  trouble  with  them. 
Now,  when  I  ask  you  questions,  I  never  expect 
to  be  answered ;  but  when  you  ask  me,  you 
always  do  ;  and  it's  not  fair. 

Dora.  Very  well,  we  shall  understand,  next 
time. 

Sibyl.  No,  but  seriously,  we  all  want  to  ask  one 
thing  more,  quite  dreadfully. 

L.  And  I  don't  want  to  be  asked  it,  quite  dread- 
fully ;  but  you'll  have  your  own  way,  of  course. 

Sibyl.  We  none  of  us  understand  about  the 
lower  Pthah.  It  was  not  merely  yesterday ;  but 
in  all  we  have  read  about  him  in  Wilkinson,  or  in 
any  book,  we  cannot  understand  what  the  Egyp- 
tians put  their  god  into  that  ugly  little  deformed 
shape  for. 

L.  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  that  sort  of  question ; 
because  I  can  answer  anything  I  like,  to  that. 

Egypt.  Anything  you  like  will  do  quite  well  for 
us ;  we  shall  be  pleased  with  the  answer,  if  you 
are. 

L.  I   am   not  so  sure  of  that,  most  gracious 


THE    CRYSTAL  LIFE.  51 

queen ;  for  I  must  begin  by  the  statement  that 
queens  seem  to  have  disliked  all  sorts  of  work,  in 
those  days,  as  much  as  some  queens  dislike  sew- 
ing to-day. 

Egypt.  Now,  it's  too  bad  !  and  just  when  I  was 
trying  to  say  the  civillest  thing  I  could  ! 

L.  But,  Egypt,  why  did  you  tell  me  you  dis- 
liked sewing  so,? 

Egypt.  Did  not  I  show  you  how  the  thread 
cuts  my  fingers  ?  and  I  always  get  cramp,  some- 
how, in  my  neck,  if  I  sew  long. 

L.  Well,  I  suppose  the  Egyptian  queens  thought 
everybody  got  cramp  in  their  neck,  if  they  sewed 
long ;  and  that  thread  always  cut  people's  fingers. 
At  all  events,  every  kind  of  manual  labour  was 
despised  both  by  them,  and  the  Greeks ;  and, 
while  they  owned  the  real  good  and  fruit  of  it, 
they  yet  held  it  a  degradation  to  all  who  practised 
it.  Also,  knowing  the  laws  of  life  thoroughly, 
they  perceived  that  the  special  practice  necessary 
to  bring  any  manual  art  to  perfection  strength- 
ened the  body  distortedly  ;  one  energy  or  member 
gaining  at  the  expense  of  the  rest.  They  espe- 
cially dreaded  and  despised  any  kind  of  work  that 
had  to  be  done  near  fire  :  yet,  feeling  what  they 
owed  to  it  in  metal-work,  as  the  basis  of  all  other 
work,  they  expressed  this  mixed  reverence  and 
scorn  in  the  varied  types  of  the  lame  Hephaestus, 
and  the  lower  Pthah. 


52  THE   ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Sibyl.  But  what  did  you  mean  by  making  him 
say  'Everything  great  I  6an  make  small,  and 
everything  small  great '  ? 

L.  I  had  my  own  separate  meaning  in  that. 
We  have  seen  in  modern  times  the  power  of  the 
lower  Pthah  developed  in  a  separate  way,  which 
no  Greek  nor  Egyptian  could  have  conceived.  It 
is  the  character  of  pure  and  eyeless  manual  labour 
to  conceive  everything  as  subjected  to  it :  and,  in 
reality,  to  disgrace  and  diminish  all  that  is  so  sub- 
jected, aggrandising  itself,  and  the  thought  of  it- 
self, at  the  expense  of  all  noble  things.  I  heard 
an  orator,  and  a  good  one  too,  at  the  Working 
Men's  College,  the  other  day,  make  a  great  point 
in  a  description  of  our  railroads ;  saying,  with 
grandly  conducted  emphasis,  '  They  have  made 
man  greater,  and  the  world  less.'  His  working 
audience  were  mightily  pleased  ;  they  thought  it 
so  very  fine  a  thing  to  be  made  bigger  themselves  ; 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  less.  I  should  have 
enjoyed  asking  them  (but  it  would  have  been  a 
pity — they  were  so  pleased),  how  much  less  they 
would  like  to  have  the  world  made.; — and  whether, 
at  present,  those  of  them  really  felt  the  biggest 
men,  who  lived  in  the  least  houses. 

Sibyl.  But  then,  why  did  you  make  Pthah  say 
that  he  could  make  weak  things  strong,  and  small 
things  great .? 

L.   My  dear,  he  is  a  boaster  and  self-assertor, 


THE   CRYSTAL  LIFE.  53 

by  nature  ;  but  it  is  so  far  true.  For  instance, 
we  used  to  have  a  fair  in  our  neighbourhood — a 
very  fine  fair  we  thought  it.  You  never  saw  such 
an  one ;  but  if  you  look  at  the  engraving  of 
Turner's  '  St.  Catherine's  Hill,'  you  will  see  what  it 
was  like.  There  were  curious  booths,  carried  on 
poles  ;  and  peep-shows  ;  and  music,  with  plenty 
of  drums  and  cymbals  ;  and  much  barley-sugar 
and  gingerbread,  and  the  like  :  and  in  the  alleys 
of  this  fair  the  London  populace  would  enjoy 
themselves,  after  their  fashion,  very  thoroughly. 
Well,  the  little  Pthah  set  to  work  upon  it  one  day  ; 
he  made  the  wooden  poles  into  iron  ones,  and 
put  them  across,  like  his  own  crooked  legs,  so 
that  you  always  fall  over  them  if  you  don't  look 
where  you  are  going ;  and  he  turned  all  the  can- 
vas into  panes  of  glass,  and  put  it  up  on  his  iron 
cross-poles ;  and  made  all  the  little  booths  into  one 
great  booth  ; — and  people  said  it  was  very  fine, 
and  a  new  style  of  architecture  ;  and  Mr.  Dickens 
said  nothing  was  ever  like  it  in  Fairy-land,  which 
was  very  true.  And  then  the  little  Pthah  set  to 
work  to  put  fine  fairings  in  it ;  and  he  painted  the 
Nineveh  bulls  afresh,  with  the  blackest  eyes  he 
could  paint  (because  he  had  none  himself),  and 
he  got  the  angels  down  from  Lincoln  choir,  and 
gilded  their  wings  like  his  gingerbread  of  old 
times  ;  and  he  sent  for  everything  else  he  could 
think  of,  and  put  it  in  his  booth.     There  are  the 


54  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

casts  of  Niobe  and  her  children  ;  and  the  Chim- 
panzee ;  and  the  wooden  Caifres  and  New-Zea- 
landers ;  and  the  Shakespeare  House ;  and  Le 
Grand  Blondin,  and  Le  Petit  Blondin ;  and 
Handel ;  and  Mozart ;  and  no  end  of  shops,  and 
buns,  and  beer ;  and  all  the  little-Pthah-worship- 
pers  say,  never  was  anything  so  sublime  ! 

Sibyl.  Now,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  never  go 
to  these  Crystal  Palace  concerts  ?  They're  as  good 
as  good  can  be. 

L.  I  don't  go  to  the  thundering  things  with  a 
million  of  bad  voices  in  them.  When  I  want  a 
song,  I  get  Julia  Mannering  and  Lucy  Bertram 
and  Counsellor  Pleydell  to  sing  *  We  be  three  poor 
Mariners '  to  me ;  then  I've  no  headache  next 
morning.  But  I  do  go  to  the  smaller  concerts, 
when  I  can  ;  for  they  are  very  good,  as  you  say, 
Sibyl  :  and  I  always  get  a  reserved  seat  some- 
where near  the  orchestra,  where  I  am  sure  I  can 
see  the  kettle-drummer  drum. 

Sibyl.   Now  do  be  serious,  for  one  minute. 

L.  I  am  serious — never  was  more  so.  You 
know  one  can't  see  the  modulation  of  violinists' 
fingers,  but  one  can  see  the  vibration  of  the 
drummer's  hand  ;  and  it's  lovely. 

Sibyl.  But  fancy  going  to  a  concert,  not  to 
hear,  but  to  see  ! 

L.  Yes,  it  is  very  absurd.  The  quite  right 
thing,  I  belive,  is  to  go  there  to  talk.     I  confess. 


THE   CRYSTAL  LIFE.  55 

however,  that  in  most  music,  when  very  well  done, 
the  doing  of  it  is  to  me  the  chiefly  interesting  part 
of  the  business.  I'm  always  thinking  how  good  it 
would  be  for  the  fat,  supercilious  people,  who  care 
so  little  for  their  half-crown's  worth,  to  be  set  to 
try  and  do  a  half-crown's  worth  of  anything  like  it. 

Mary.  But  surely  that  Crystal  Palace  is  a  great 
good  and  help  to  the  people  of  London  ? 

L.  The  fresh  air  of  the  Norwood  hills  is,  or 
was,  my  dear;  but  they  are  spoiling  that  with 
smoke  as  fast  as  they  can.  And  the  palace  (as 
they  call  it)  is  a  better  place  for  them,  by  much, 
than  the  old  fair ;  and  it  is  always  there,  instead 
of  for  three  days  only  ;  and  it  shuts  up  at  proper 
hours  of  night.  And  good  use  may  be  made  of 
the  things  in  it,  if  you  know  how  :  but  as  for  its 
teaching  the  people,  it  will  teach  them  nothing 
but  the  lowest  of  the  lower  Pthah's  work — nothing 
but  hammer  and  tongs.  I  saw  a  wonderful  piece, 
of  his  doing,  in  the  place,  only  the  other  day. 
Some  unhappy  metal-worker — I  am  not  sure  if  it 
was  not  a  metal-working  firm — had  taken  three 
years  to  make  a  Golden  eagle. 

Sibyl.     Of  real  gold  ? 

L.  No  ;  of  bronze,  or  copper,  or  some  of  their 
foul  patent  metals — it  is  no  matter  what.  I  meant 
a  model  of  our  chief  British  eagle.  Every  feather 
was  made  separately  ;  and  every  filament  of  every 
feather  separately,  and  so  joined  on  ;  and  all  the 


S6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

quills  modelled  of  the  right  length  and  right  sec- 
tion, and  at  last  the  whole  cluster  of  them  fas- 
tened together.  You  know,  children,  I  don't 
think  much  of  my  own  drawing ;  but  take  my 
proud  word  for  once,  that  when  I  go  to  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens,  and  happen  to  have  a  bit  of  chalk 
in  my  pocket,  and  the  Grey  Harpy  will  sit,  with- 
out screwing  his  head  round,  for  thirty  seconds, 
— I  can  do  a  better  thing  of  him  in  that  time  than 
the  three  years'  work  of  this  industrious  firm. 
For,  during  the  thirty  seconds,  the  eagle  is  my 
object, — not  myself ;  and  during  the  three  years, 
the  firm's  object,  in  every  fibre  of  bronze  it  made, 
was  itself,  and  not  the  eagle.  That  is  the  true 
meaning  of  the  little  Pthah's  having  no  eyes — he 
can  see  only  himself.  The  Egyptian  beetle  was 
not  quite  the  full  type  of  him ;  our  northern 
ground  beetle  is  a  truer  one.  It  is  beautiful  to 
see  it  at  work,  gathering  its  treasures  (such  as  they 
are)  into  little  round  balls ;  and  pushing  them 
home  with  the  strong  wrong  end  of  it, — head 
downmost  all  the  way, — like  a  modern  political 
economist  with  his  ball  of  capital,  declaring  that 
a  nation  can  stand  on  its  vices  better  than  on  its 
virtues.  But  away  with  you,  children,  now,  for 
I'm  getting  cross. 

Dora.  I'm  going  down  stairs ;  I  shall  take  care, 
at  any  rate,  that  there  are  no  little  Pthahs  in  the 
kitchen  cupboards. 


fiettnxi  4. 
TITE  CRYSTAL  ORDERS. 


LECTURE   IV. 


THE  CRYSTAL  ORDERS. 


A  working  Lecture  in  the  large  Schoolroom  ;  with 
experimental  Interludes.  The  great  bell  has  rung 
unexpectedly. 

Kathleen  {entering  disconsolate,  though  first  at 
the  summons).  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  what  a  day ! 
Was  ever  anything  so  provoking !  just  when  we 
wanted  to  crystallise  ourselves ; — and  I'm  sure  it's 
going  to  rain  all  day  long. 

L.  So  am  I,  Kate.  The  sky  has  quite  an  Irish 
way  with  it.  But  I  don't  see  why  Irish  girls  should 
also  look  so  dismal.  Fancy  that  you  don't  want 
to  crystallise  yourselves  :  you  didn't,  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  and  you  were  not  unhappy  when 
it  rained  then. 

Florrie.  Ah  !  but  we  do  want  to-day;  and  the 
rain's  so  tiresome. 

L.  That  is  to  say,  children,  that  because  you 
are  all  the  richer  by  the  expectation  of  playing  at 
a  new  game,  you  choose  to  make  yourselves  un- 

59 


6o  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

happier  than  when  you  had  nothing  to  look  for- 
ward to,  but  the  old  ones. 

Isabel.  But  then,  to  have  to  wait — wait — wait ; 
and  before  we've  tried  it; — and  perhaps  it  will 
rain  to-morrow,  too ! 

L.  It  may  also  rain  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
We  can  make  ourselves  uncomfortable  to  any  ex- 
tent with  perhapses,  Isabel.  You  may  stick  per- 
hapses  into  your  little  minds,  like  pins,  till  you  are 
as  uncomfortable  as  the  Lilliputians  made  Gulliver 
with  their  arrows,  when  he  would  not  lie  quiet. 

Isabel.     But  what  are  we  to  do  to-day  ? 

L.  To  be  quiet,  for  one  thing,  like  Gulliver 
when  he  saw  there  was  nothing  better  to  be  done. 
And  to  practise  patience.  I  can  tell  you,  children, 
that  requires  nearly  as  much  practising  as  music  ; 
and  we  are  continually  losing  our  lessons  when 
the  master  comes.  Now,  to-day,  here's  a  nice, 
little  adagio  lesson  for  us,  if  we  play  it  properly. 

Isabel.  But  I  don't  like  that  sort  of  lesson.  I 
can't  play  it  properly. 

L.  Can  you  play  a  Mozart  sonata  yet,  Isabel  ? 
The  more  need  to  practise.  All  one's  life  is  a 
music,  if  one  touches  the  notes  rightly,  and  in 
time.     But  there  must  be  no  hurry. 

Kathleen.  I'm  sure  there's  no  music  in  stop- 
ping in  on  a  rainy  day. 

L.  There's  no  music  in  a  'rest,'  Katie,  that  I 
know  of:  but  there's  the  making  of  music  in  it. 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  6 1 

And  people  are  always  missing  that  part  of  the  life- 
melody;  and  scrambling  on  without  counting — 
not  that  it's  easy  to  count ;  but  nothing  on  which 
so  much  depends  ever  is  easy.  People  are  always 
talking  of  perseverance,  and  courage,  and  forti- 
tude ;  but  patience  is  the  finest  and  worthiest  part 
of  fortitude, — and  the  rarest,  too.  I  know  twenty 
persevering  girls  for  one  patient  one  :  but  it  is  only 
that  twenty-first  who  can  do  her  work,  out  and 
out,  or  enjoy  it.  For  patience  lies  at  the  root  of 
all  pleasures,  as  well  as  of  all  powers.  Hope  her- 
self ceases  to  be  happiness,  when  Impatience  com- 
panions her. 

(Isabel  and  Lily  sit  down  on  the  floor,  and  fold 
their  hands.  The  others  follow  their  example. ) 
Good  children  !  but  that's  not  quite  the  way  of 
it,  neither.  Folded  hands  are  not  necessarily  re- 
signed ones.  The  Patience  who  really  smiles  at 
grief  usually  stands,  or  walks,  or  even  runs  :  she 
seldom  sits  ;  though  she  may  sometimes  have  to 
do  it,  for  many  a  day,  poor  thing,  by  monuments; 
or  like  Chaucer's,  '  with  face  pale,  upon  a  hill  of 
sand.'  But  we  are  not  reduced  to  that  to-day. 
Suppose  we  use  this  calamitous  forenoon  to  choose 
the  shapes  we  are  to  crystallise  into  ?  we  know 
nothing  about  them  yet. 

{The  pictures  of  resignation  rise  from  the  floor 
not  in  the  patientest  manner.  General  ap>- 
plause. ) 


62  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Mary  (^ith  'one  or  two  others).   The  very  thing' 
we  wanted  to  ask  you  about ! 

Lily.  We  looked  at  the  books  about  crystals, 
but  they  are  so  dreadful. 

L.  Well,  Lily,  we  must  go  through  a  little 
dreadfulness,  that's  a  fact :  no  road  to  any  good 
knowledge  is  wholly  among  the  lilies  and  the 
grass ;  there  is  rough  climbing  to  be  done  always. 
But  the  crystal-books  are  a  little  too  dreadful,  most 
of  them,  I  admit ;  and  we  shall  have  to  be  con- 
tent with  very  little  of  their  help.  You  know,  as 
you  cannot  stand  on  each  other's  heads,  you  can 
only  make  yourselves  into  the  sections  of  crystals, 
— the  figures  they  show  when  they  are  cut  through  ; 
and  we  will  choose  some  that  will  be  quite  easy. 
You  shall  make  diamonds  of  yourselves — 

Isabel.  Oh,  no,  no !  we  won't  be  diamonds, 
please. 

L.  Yes,  you  shall,  Isabel ;  they  are  very  pretty 
things,  if  the  jewellers,  and  the  kings  and  queens, 
would  only  let  them  alone.  You  shall  make  dia- 
monds of  yourselves,  and  rubies  of  yourselves,  and 
emeralds  ;  and  Irish  diamonds ;  two  of  those — 
with  Lily  in  the  middle  of  one,  which  will  be 
very  orderly,  of  course ;  and  Kathleen  in  the 
middle  of  the  other,  for  which  we  will  hope  the 
best ;  and  you  shall  make  Derbyshire  spar  of 
yourselves,  and  Iceland  spar,  and  gold,  and  silver, 


THE    CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  63 

and — Quicksilver  there's  enough  of  in  you,  with- 
out any  making. 

Mary.  Now,  you  know,  the  children  will  be 
getting  quite  wild  :  we  must  really  get  pencils  and 
paper,  and  begin  properly. 

L.  Wait  a  minute,  Miss  Mary  ;  I  think  as  we've 
the  school  room  clear  to-day,  I'll  try  to  give  you 
some  notion  of  the  three  great  orders  or  ranks  of 
crystals,  into  which  all  the  others  seem  more  or 
less  to  fall.  We  shall  only  want  one  figure  a  day, 
in  the  playground  ;  and  that  can  be  drawn  in  a 
minute  :  but  the  general  ideas  had  better  be  fas- 
tened first.  I  must  show  you  a  great  many 
minerals  ;  so  let  me  have  three  tables  wheeled  into 
the  three  windows,  that  we  may  keep  our  speci- 
mens separate  ; — we  will  keep  the  three  orders  of 
crystals  on  separate  tables. 

First  Interlude,  of  pushing  and  pulling,  and 
spreading  of  baize  covers.     Violet,  not  par- 
ticularly minding  what  she  is  about,  gets  her- 
self jammed  into  a  corner,  and  bid  to  stand 
out  of  the  way  ;  on  which  she  devotes  herself 
to  meditation.) 
Violet    {after   interval   of  meditation).       How 
strange  it  is  that  everything  seems  to  divide  into 
threes ! 

L.  Everything  doesn't  divide  into  threes.  Ivy 
won't,  though  shamrock  will ;  and  daisies  won't, 
though  lilies  will. 


64  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Violet.  But  all  the  nicest  things  seem  to  divide 
into  threes, 

L.  Violets  won't. 

Violet.  No  ;  I  should  think  not,  indeed !  But 
I  mean  the  great  things. 

L.  I've  always  heard  the  globe  had  four  quar- 
ters. 

Isabel.  Well ;  but  you  know  you  said  it  hadn't 
any  quarters  at  all.  So  mayn't  it  really  be  divided 
into  three? 

L.  If  it  were  divided  into  no  more  than  three, 
on  the  outside  of  it,  Isabel,  it  would  be  a  fine 
world  to  live  in  ;  and  if  it  were  divided  into  three 
in  the  inside  of  it,  it  would  soon  be  no  world  to 
live  in  at  all. 

Dora.  We  shall  never  get  to  the  crystals,  at  this 
rate.  {Aside  to  Mary.)  He  will  get  off  into 
political  economy  before  we  know  where  we  are. 
(Aloud.)  But  the  crystals  are  divided  into  three, 
then? 

L.  No  ;  but  there  are  three  general  notions  by 
which  we  may  best  get  hold  of  them.  Then  be- 
tween these  notions  there  are  other  notions. 

Lily  (alarmed).  A  great  many?  And  shall 
we  have  to  learn  them  all  ? 

I*  More  than  a  great  many — a  quite  infinite 
many.     So  you  cannot  learn  them  all. 

Lily  (greally  relieved).  Then  may  we  only 
learn  the  three  ? 


THE   CRYSTAL   ORDERS.  65 

L.  Certainly  ;  unless,  when  you  have  got  those 
three  notions,  you  want  to  have  some  more  no- 
tions ; — which  would  not  surprise  me.  But  we'll 
try  for  the  three,  first.  Katie,  you  broke  your 
coral  necklace  this  morning  ? 

Kathleen.  Oh !  who  told  you  ?  It  was  in 
jumping.      I'm  so  sorry  ! 

L.  I'm  very  glad.  Can  you  fetch  me  the  beads 
of  it? 

Kathleen.  I've  lost  some ;  here  are  the  rest 
in  my  pocket,  if  I  can  only  get  them  out. 

L.  You  mean  to  get  them  out  some  day,  I  sup- 
pose ;  so  try  now.     I  want  them. 

(Kathleen  empties  her  pocket  on  the  floor. 
The  beads  disperse.  The  School  disperses 
also.     Second  Interlude — hunting  piece. ) 

L.  {after  waiting  patiently  yor  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  to  Isabel,  who  comes  up  from  under  the  table 
with  her  hair  all  about  her  ears  and  the  last  findable 
beads  in  her  hand. )  Mice  are  useful  little  things 
sometimes.  Now,  mousie,  I  want  all  those  beads 
crystallised.  How  many  ways  are  there  of  put- 
ting them  in  order  ? 

Isabel.  Well,  first  one  would  string  them,  I 
suppose  ? 

L.  Yes,  that's  the  first  way.  You  cannot  string 
ultimate  atoms  ;  but  you  can  put  them  in  a  row, 
and  then  they  fasten  themselves  together,  some- 
how, into  a  long  rod  or  needle.     We   will   call 


^^  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

these  'Needle-cxy?X2\^.'  What  would  be  the  next 
way? 

Isabel.  I  suppose,  as  we  are  to  get  together  in 
the  playground,  when  it  stops  raining,  in  diiferent 
shapes  ? 

L.  Yes;  put  the  beads  together,  then,  in  the 
simplest  form  you  can,  to  begin  with.  Put  them 
into  a  square,  and  pack  them  close. 

Isabel  {after  careful  endeavour^.  I  can't  get 
them  closer. 

L.  That  will  do.  Now  you  may  see,  before- 
hand, that  if  you  try  to  throw  yourselves  into 
square  in  this  confused  way,  you  will  never  know 
your  places ;  so  you  had  better  consider  every 
square  as  made  of  rods,  put  side  by  side.  Take 
four  beads  of  equal  size,  first,  Isabel ;  put  them 
into  a  little  square.  That,  you  may  consider  as 
made  up  of  two  rods  of  two  beads  each.  Then 
you  can  make  a  square  a  size  larger,  out  of  three 
rods  of  three.  Then  the  next  square  may  be  a 
size  larger.     How  many  rods,  Lily  ? 

Lily.  Four  rods  of  four  beads  each,  I  suppose. 

L.  Yes,  and  then  five  rods  of  five,  and  so  on. 
But  now,  look  here  ;  make  another  square  of  four 
beads  again.  You  see  they  leave  a  little  opening 
in  the  centre. 

Isabel  {pushing  two  opposite  ones  closer  together'). 
Now  they  don't. 

L.   No  ;  but  now  it  isn't  a  square  ;  and  by  push- 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  6/ 

ing  the  two  together  you  have  pushed  the  two 
others  farther  apart, 

Isabel.  And  yet,  somehow,  they  all  seem  closer 
than  they  were  ! 

L.  Yes ;  for  before,  each  of  them  only  touched 
two  of  the  others,  but  now  each  of  the  two  in  the 
middle  touches  the  other  three.  Take  away  one 
of  the  outsiders,  Isabel  :  now  you  have  three  in  a 
triangle — the  smallest  triangle  you  can  make  out 
of  the  beads.  Now  put  a  rod  of  three  beads  on 
at  one  side.  So,  you  have  a  triangle  of  six  beads  ; 
but  just  the  shape  of  the  first  one.  Next  a  rod  of 
four  on  the  side  of  that ;  and  you  have  a  triangle 
of  ten  beads  :  then  a  rod  of  five  on  the  side  of 
that ;  and  you  have  a  triangle  of  fifteen.  Thus 
you  have  a  square  with  five  beads  on  the  side, 
and  a  triangle  with  five  beads  on  the  side  ;  equal- 
sided,  therefore,  like  the  square.  So,  however 
few  or  many  you  may  be,  you  may  soon  learn  how 
to  crystallise  quickly  into  these  two  figures,  which 
are  the  foundation  of  form  in  the  commonest,  and 
therefore  actually  the  most  important,  as  well  as 
in  the  rarest,  and  therefore,  by  our  esteem,  the 
most  important,  minerals  of  the  world.  Look  at 
this  in  my  hand. 

Violet.  Why,  it  is  leaf  gold  ! 

L.  Yes  ;  but  beaten  by  no  man's  hammer  ;  or 
rather,  not  beaten  at  all,  but  woven.  Besides, 
feel  the  weight  of  it.     There  is  gold  enough  there 


68  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

to  gild  the  walls  and  ceiling,  if  it  were  beaten 
thin. 

Violet.  How  beautiful  !  And  it  glitters  like  a 
leaf  covered  with  frost. 

L.  You  only  think  it  so  beautiful  because  you 
know  it  is  gold.  It  is  not  prettier,  in  reality,  than 
a  bit  of  brass  :  for  it  is  Transylvanian  gold  ;  and 
they  say  there  is  a  foolish  gnome  in  the  mines 
there,  who  is  always  wanting  to  live  in  the  moon, 
and  so  alloys  all  the  gold  with  a  little  silver.  I 
don't  know  how  that  may  be  :  but  the  silver  al- 
ways is  in  the  gold  ;  and  if  he  does  it,  it's  very 
provoking  of  him,  for  no  gold  is  woven  so  fine 
anywhere  else. 

Mary  {who  has  been  looking  through  her  magni- 
fying glass).  But  this  is  not  woven.  This  is  all 
made  of  little  triangles. 

L.  Say  *  patched,'  then,  if  you  must  be  so  par- 
ticular. But  if  you  fancy  all  those  triangles, 
small  as  they  are  (and  many  of  them  are  infinitely 
small),  made  up  again  of  rods,  and  those  of 
grains,  as  we  built  our  great  triangle  of  the 
beads,  what  word  will  you  take  for  the  manufac- 
ture? 

May.   There's  no  word — it  is  beyond  words. 

L.  Yes ;  and  that  would  matter  little,  were  it 
not  beyond  thoughts  too.  But,  at  all  events,  this 
yellow  leaf  of  dead  gold,  shed,  not  from  the 
ruined  woodlands,  but  the  ruined  rocks,  will  help 


THE   CRYSTAL   ORDERS.  69 

you  to  remember  the  second  kind  of  crystals, 
Z^ff/^crystals,  or  Foliated  crystals  ;  though  I  show 
you  the  form  in  gold  first  only  to  make  a  strong 
impression  on  you,  for  gold  is  not  generally,  or 
characteristically,  crystallised  in  leaves  ;  the  real 
type  of  foliated  crystals  is  this  thing,  Mica  ;  which 
if  you  once  feel  well,  and  break  well,  you  will 
always  know  again  ;  and  you  will  often  have  oc- 
casion to  know  it,  for  you  will  find  it  ever}'where, 
nearly,  in  hill  countries. 

Kathleen.  If  we  break  it  well  1  May  we  break 
it? 

L.   To  powder,  if  you  like. 

{^Surrenders  plate  0/  brown  mica  to  public  investi- 
gation. Third  Interlude.  It  sustains  severely 
philosophical  treatment  at  all  hands. ) 

Florrie  {to  whom  the  last  fragments  have  de- 
scendea).  Always  leaves,  and  leaves,  and  nothing 
but  leaves,  or  white  dust  ? 

L.   That  dust  itself  is  nothing  but  finer  leaves. 

{Shows  them  to  Florrie  through  magnifying 
glass. ) 

Isabel  {peeping  over  Florrie's  shoulder).  But 
then  this  bit  under  the  glass  looks  like  that  bit  out 
of  the  glass  1  If  we  could  break  this  bit  under 
the  glass,  what  would  it  be  like  ? 

L.   It  would  be  all  leaves  still. 

Isabel.   And  then  if  we  broke  those  again  ? 

L.   All  less  leaves  still. 


70  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Isabel  {impatient).  And  if  we  broke  them 
again,  and  again,  and  again,  and  again,  and 
again  ? 

L.  Well,  I  suppose  you  would  come  to  a  limit, 
if  you  could  only  see  it.  Notice  that  the  little 
flakes  already  differ  some  what  from  the  large  ones  : 
because  I  can  bend  them  up  and  down,  and  they 
stay  bent ;  while  the  large  flake,  though  it  bent 
easily  a  little  way,  sprang  back  when  you  let  it  go, 
and  broke,  when  you  tried  to  bend  it  far.  And 
a  large  mass  would  not  bend  at  all. 

Mary.  Would  that  leaf  gold  separate  into  finer 
leaves,  in  the  same  way  ? 

L.  No  ;  and  therefore,  as  I  told  you,  it  is  not  a 
characteristic  specimen  of  a  foliated  crystallisation. 
The  little  triangles  are  portions  of  solid  crystals, 
and  so  they  are  in  this,  which  looks  like  a  black 
mica ;  but  you  see  it  is  made  up  of  triangles  like 
the  gold,  and  stands,  almost  accurately,  as  an  in- 
termediate link,  in  crystals,  between  mica  and 
gold.  Yet  this  is  the  commonest,  as  gold  the  rarest, 
of  metals. 

Mary.    Is  it  iron  ?     I  never  saw  iron  so  bright. 

L.  It  is  rust  of  iron,  finely  crystallised:  from  its 
resemblance  to  mica,  it  is  often  called  micaceous 
iron. 

Kathleen.    May  we  break  this,  too  ? 

L.  No,  for  I  could  not  easily  get  such  another 
crystal ;   besides,    it   would   not    break   like   the 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  /I 

mica ;  it  is  much  harder.  But  take  the  glass 
again,  and  look  at  the  fineness  of  the  jagged  edges 
of  the  triangles  where  they  lap  over  each  other. 
The  gold  has  the  same  :  but  you  see  them  better 
here,  terrace  above  terrace,  countless,  and  in  suc- 
cessive angles,  like  superb  fortified  bastions. 

May.  But  all  foliated  crystals  are  not  made  of 
triangles  ? 

L.  Far  from  it ;  mica  is  occasionally  so,  but 
usually  of  hexagons  ;  and  here  is  a  foliated  crys- 
tal made  of  squares,  which  will  show  you  that  the 
leaves  of  the  rock-land  have  their  summer  green, 
as  well  as  their  autumnal  gold. 

Florrie.    Oh  !  oh  I   oh  !  (^  jumps  for  joy). 

L.  Did  you  never  see  a  bit  of  green  leaf  before, 
Florrie  ? 

Florrie.  Yes,  but  never  so  bright  as  that,  and 
not  in  a  stone. 

L.  If  you  will  look  at  the  leaves  of  the  trees  in 
sunshine  after  a  shower,  you  will  find  they  are 
much  brighter  than  that ;  and  surely  they  are  none 
the  worse  for  being  on  stalks  instead  of  in  stones  ? 

Florrie.  Yes,  but  then  there  are  so  many  of 
them,  one  never  looks,  I  suppose. 

L.   Now  you  have  it,  Florrie. 

Violet  {sighing).  There  are  so  many  beautiful 
things  we  never  see  ! 

L.   You  need  not  sigh  for  that,  Violet ;   but  I 


72  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

will  tell  you  what  we  should  all  sigh  for — that 
there  are  so  many  ugly  things  we  never  see. 

Violet.   But  we  don't  want  to  see  ugly  things  ! 

L.  You  had  better  say,  'We  don't  want  to 
suffer  them. '  You  ought  to  be  glad  in  thinking 
how  much  more  beauty  God  has  made,  than 
human  eyes  can  ever  see;  but  not  glad  in  think- 
ing how  much  more  evil  man  has  made,  than  his 
own  soul  can  ever  conceive,  much  more  than  his 
hands  can  ever  heal. 

Violet.  I  don't  understand  ; — how  is  that  like 
the  leaves  ? 

L.  The  same  law  holds  in  our  neglect  of  multi- 
plied pain,  as  in  our  neglect  of  multiplied  beauty. 
Florrie  jumps  for  joy  at  sight  of  half  an  inch  of  a 
green  leaf  ih  a  brown  stone,  and  takes  more  notice 
of  it  than  of  all  the  green  in  the  wood,  and  you, 
or  I,  or  any  of  us,  would  be  unhappy  if  any 
single  human  creature  beside  us  were  in  sharp 
pain  ;  but  we  can  read,  at  breakfast,  day  after 
day,  of  men  being  killed,  and  of  women  and 
children  dying  of  hunger,  faster  than  the  leaves 
strew  the  brooks  in  Vallombrosa  ; — and  then  go 
out  to  play  croquet,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

May.  But  we  do  not  see  the  people  being  killed 
or  dying. 

L.  You  did  not  see  your  brother,  when  you  got 
the  telegram  the  other  day,  saying  he  was  ill,  May  ; 
but  you  cried  for  him  ;    and  played  no  croquet. 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  73 

But  we  cannot  talk  of  these  things  now ;  and  what 
is  more,  you  must  let  me  talk  straight  on,  for  a 
little  while ;  and  ask  no  questions  till  I've  done : 
for  we  branch  ('exfoliate,'  I  should  say,  minera- 
logically)    always   into   something   else, — though 
that's  my  fault  more  than  yours ;   but  I  must  go 
straight  on  now.     You  have  got  a  distinct  notion, 
I  hope,  of  leaf-crystals ;   and  you  see  the  sort  of 
look   they  have :   you   can  easily  remember  that 
»'  folium '  is  Latin  for  a  leaf,  and  that  the  separate 
flakes  of  mica,  or  any  other  such  stones,  are  called 
'folia  ;'  but,  because  mica  is  the  most  characteris- 
tic of  these  stones,  other  things  that  are  like  it  in 
structure  are  called   '  micas  ;'  thus  we  have  Uran- 
mica,  which  is  the  green  leaf  I  showed  you  ;  and 
Copper-mica,  which  is  another  like  it,  made  chiefly 
of  copper  ;  and  this  foliated  iron  is  called  '  mica- 
ceous  iron.'      You   have   then   these   two   great 
orders,  Needle-crystals,  made  (probably)  of  grains 
in  rows ;    and  Leaf-crystals,   made  (probably)  of 
needles  interwoven ;  now,  lastly,  there  are  crystals 
of  a  third  order,  in  heaps,   or  knots,    or  masses, 
which  may  be  made  either  of  leaves  laid  one  upon 
another,  or  of  needles  bound  like  Roman  fasces  ; 
and  mica  itself,  when  it  is  well  crystallised,  puts 
itself  into  such  masses,  as  if  to  show  us  how  others 
are   made.     Here   is   a   brown  six-sided   crystal, 
quite  as  beautifully  chiselled  at  the  sides  as  any 
castle   tower ;   but  you  see  it  is  entirely  built  of 


74  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST, 

folia  of  mica,  one  laid  above  another,  which 
break  away  the  moment  I  touch  the  edge  with  my 
knife.  Now,  here  is  another  hexagonal  tower,  of 
just  the  same  size  and  colour,  which  I  want  you 
to  compare  with  the  mica  carefully ;  but  as  I  can- 
not wait  for  you  to  do  it  just  now,  I  must  tell  you 
quickly  what  main  differences  to  look  for.  First, 
you  will  feel  it  far  heavier  than  the  mica.  Then, 
though  its  surface  looks  quite  micaceous  in  the 
folia  of  it  when  you  try  them  with  the  knife,  you 
will  find  you  cannot  break  them  away 

Kathleen.   May  I  try  ? 

L.  Yes,  you  mistrusting  Katie.  Here's  my 
strong  knife  for  you.  {Experimental pause.  Kath- 
leen doing  her  best.)  You'll  have  that  knife  shut- 
ting on  your  finger  presently,  Kate ;  and  I  don't 
know  a  girl  who  would  like  less  to  have  her  hand 
tied  up  for  a  week. 

Kathleen  {who  also  does  not  like  to  be  beaten — 
giving  up  the  knife  despondently).  What  can  the 
nasty  hard  thing  be .? 

L.  It  is  nothing  but  indurated  clay,  Kate:  very 
hard  set  certainly,  yet  not  so  hard  as  it  might  be. 
If  it  were  thoroughly  well  crystallised,  you  would 
see  none  of  those  micaceous  fractures ;  and  the 
stone  would  be  quite  red  and  clear,  all  through. 

Kathleen.   Oh,  cannot  you  show  us  one .'' 

L.  Egypt  can,  if  you  ask  her ;  she  has  a  beauti- 
ful one  in  the  clasp  of  her  favourite  bracelet. 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  75 

Kathleen.     Why,  that's  a  ruby  ! 

L.  Well,  so  is  that  thing  you've  been  scratching 
at. 

Kathleen.   My  goodness ! 

(Takes  up  the  stone  again,  very  delicately  ;  and 
drops  it.     General  consternation. ) 

L.  Never  mind,  Katie  ;  you  might  drop  it  from 
the  top  of  the  house,  and  do  it  no  harm.  But 
though  you  really  are  a  very  .good  girl,  and  as 
good-natured  as  anybody  can  possibly  be,  remem- 
ber, you  have  your  faults,  like  other  people  ;  and, 
if  I  were  you,  the  next  time  I  wanted  to  assert 
anything  energetically,  I  would  assert  it  by  'my 
badness,'  not  'my  goodness.' 

Kathleen.  Ah,  now,  it's  too  bad  of  you  ! 

L.  Well,  then,  I'll  invoke,  on  occasion,  my 
'  too-badness. '  But  you  may  as  well  pick  up  the 
ruby,  now  you  have  dropped  it ;  and  look  care- 
fully at  the  beautiful  hexagonal  lines  which  gleam 
on  its  surface  ;  and  here  is  a  pretty  white  sapphire 
(essentially  the  same  stone  as  the  ruby),  in  which 
you  will  see  the  same  lovely  structure,  like  the 
threads  of  the  finest  white  cobweb,  I  do  not 
know  what  is  the  exact  method  of  a  ruby's  con- 
struction ;  but  you  see  by  these  lines,  what  fine 
construction  there  is,  even  in  this  hardest  of  stones 
(after  the  diamond),  which  usually  appears  as  a 
massive  lump  or  knot.  There  is  therefore  no  real 
mineralogical  distinction  between  needle  crystals 


y6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

and  knotted  crystals,  but,  practically,  crystallised 
masses  throw  themselves  into   one   of  the  three 
groups  we  have  been  examining  to-day;   and  ap- 
pear either  as  Needles,   as  Folia,   or  as  Knots ; 
when  they  are  in  needles  (or  fibres),  they  make 
the  stones  or  rocks  formed  out  of  them  '■fibrous  ; 
when  they  are  in  folia,  they  make  them  'foliated ; 
when  they  are  in  knots  (or  grains),    'granular. 
Fibrous  rocks  are  comparatively  rare,  in  mass 
but  fibrous  minerals  are  innumerable  ;  and  it  is 
often  a  question  which  really  no  one  but  a  young 
lady  could  possibly  settle,  whether  one  should  call 
the  fibres  composing  them  'threads'  or  'needles.' 
Here  is  amianthus,  for  instance,  which  is  quite  as 
fine  and  soft  as  any  cotton  thread  you  ever  sewed 
with ;    and   here   is   sulphide   of   bismuth,    with 
sharper  points  and  brighter  lustre  than  your  finest 
needles   have ;    and   fastened   in   white   webs   of 
quartz  more  delicate  than  your  finest  lace ;  and 
here  is  sulphide   of  antimony,   which  looks  like 
mere  purple  wool,  but  it  is  all  of  purple  needle 
crystals ;   and  here  is  red  oxide  of  copper  (you 
must  not  breathe  on  it  as  you  look,  or  you  may 
blow  some  of  the  films  of  it  off"  the  stone),  v/hich 
is  simply  a  woven  tissue  of  scarlet  silk.     However, 
these  finer  thread   forms  are  comparatively  rare, 
while  the  bolder  and  needle-like  crystals  occur 
constantly ;  so  that,  I  believe,  '  Needle-crystal '  is 
the  best  word  (the  grand  one  is,  '  Acicular  crystal,' 


THE   CRYSTAL    ORDERS.  77 

but  Sibyl  will  tell  you  it  is  all  the  same,  only  less 
easily  understood  ;  and  therefore  more  scientific). 
Then  the  Leaf-crystals,  as  I  said,  form  an  immense 
mass  of  foliated  rocks  ;  and  the  Granular  crystals, 
which  are  of  many  kinds,  form  essentially  granular, 
or  granitic  and  porphyritic  rocks  ;  and  it  is  always 
a  point  of  more  interest  to  me  (and  I  think  will 
ultimately  be  to  you),  to  consider  the  causes  which 
force  a  given  mineral  to  take  any  one  of  these 
three  general  forms,  than  what  the  peculiar  geo- 
metrical limitations  are,  belonging  to  its  own 
crystals.*  It  is  more  interesting  to  me,  for  in- 
stance, to  try  and  find  out  why  the  red  oxide  of 
copper,  usually  crystallising  in  cubes  or  octahe- 
drons, makes  itself  exquisitely,  out  of  its  cubes, 
into  this  red  silk  in  one  particular  Cornish  mine, 
than  what  are  the  absolutely  necessary  angles  of 
the  octahedron,  which  is  its  common  form.  At 
all  events,  that  mathematical  part  of  crystallogra- 
phy is  quite  beyond  girls'  strength ;  but  these 
questions  of  the  various  tempers  and  manners  of 
crystals  are  not  only  comprehensible  by  you,  but 
full  of  the  most  curious  teaching  for  you.  For  in 
the  fulfilment,  to  the  best  of  their  power,  of  their 
adopted  form  under  given  circumstances,  there  are 
conditions  entirely  resembling  those  of  human 
virtue ;  and  indeed  expressible  under  no  term  so 

*  Note  iv. 


78  THE  ETHICS   OF    THE  DUST. 

proper  as  that  of  the  Virtue,  or  Courage  of  crys- 
tals : — which,  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  crystals 
making  you  ashamed  of  yourselves,  we  will  try  to 
get  some  notion  of,  to-morrow.  But  it  will  be  a 
bye-lecture,  and  more  about  yourselves  than  the 
minerals.     Don't  come  unless  you  like. 

Mary.  I'm  sure  the  crystals  will  make  us 
ashamed  of  ourselves ;  but  we'll  come,  for  all 
that. 

L.  Meantime,  look  well  and  quietly  over  these 
nee41e,  or  thread  crystals,  and  those  on  the  other 
two  tables,  with  magnifying  glasses  ;  and  see  what 
thoughts  will  come  into  your  little  heads  about 
them.  For  the  best  thoughts  are  generally  those 
which  come  without  being  forced,  one  does  not 
know  how.  And  so  I  hope  you  will  get  through 
your  wet  day  patiently. 


tectnxc  5. 
CRYSTAL    VIRTUES. 


LECTURE  V.  • 

CRYSTAL  VIRTUES. 

A  quiet  talk,  in  the  afternoon,  by  the  sunniest  win- 
dow of  the  Drawing-room.  Present,  Florrie, 
Isabel,  May,  Lucilla,  Kathleen,  Dora,  Mary, 
and  some  others,  who  have  saved  time /"or  the  bye- 
Lecture. 

L.  So  you  have  really  come,  like  good  girls,  to 
be  made  ashamed  of  yourselves  ? 

Dora  {very  meekly).  No,  we  needn't  be  made 
so ;  we  always  are. 

L.  Well,  I  believe  that's  truer  than  most  pretty- 
speeches  :  but  you  know,  you  saucy  girl,  some 
people  have  more  reason  to  be  so  than  others. 
Are  you  sure  everybody  is,  as  well  as  you  ? 

The  General  Voice.   Yes,  yes  ;  everybody. 

L.  What  !  Florrie  ashamed  of  herself  ?j 

(Florrie  hides  behind  the  curtain. ) 

L.   And  Isabel  .'* 

(Isabel  hides  under  the  table. ) 

L   And  May? 


82  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

(May  runs  into  the  corner  behind  the  piano. ) 

L.  And  Lucilla? 

(LuciLLA  hides  her  face  in  her  hands. ) 

L.  Dear,  dear  ;  but  this  will  never  do.  I  shall 
have  to  tell  you  of  the  faults  of  the  crystals,  in- 
stead of  virtues,  to  put  you  in  heart  again. 

May  {coming  out  of  her  corner).  Oh  !  have  the 
cr)'stals  faults,  like  us  ? 

L.  Certainly,  May.  Their  best  virtues  are 
shown  in  fighting  their  faults.  And  some  have  a 
great  many  faults  ;  and  some  are  very  naughty 
crystals  indeed. 

Florrie  {from  behind  her  curtain).  As  naughty 
as  me? 

Isabel  {peeping  out  from  under  the  table  cloth). 
Or  me? 

L.  Well,  I  don't  know.  They  never  forget 
their  syntax,  children,  when  once  they've  been 
taught  it.  But  I  think  some  of  them  are,  on  the 
whole,  worse  than  any  of  you.  Not  that  it's  ami- 
able of  you  to  look  so  radiant,  all  in  a  minute,  on 
that  account. 

Dora.   Oh  !  but  it's  so  much  more  comfortable. 

{Everybody  seems  to  recover  their  spirits.  Eclipse 
of  Florrie  and  Isabel  terminates. ) 

L.  What  kindly  creatures  girls  are,  after  all,  to 
their  neighbours'  failings !  I  think  you  may  be 
ashamed  of  yourselves  indeed,  now,  children!  I 
can  tell  you,  you  shall  hear  of  the  highest  crystal- 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  83 

line  merits  that  I  can  think  of,  to-day  :  and  I  wish 
there  were  more  of  them  ;  but  crystals  have  a  lim- 
ited, though  a  stern,  code  of  morals ;  and  their 
essential  virtues  are  but  two  ; — the  first  is  to  be 
pure,  and  the  second  to  be  well  shaped. 

Mary.  Pure  !  Does  that  mean  clear — trans- 
parent ? 

L.  No ;  unless  in  the  case  of  a  transparent  sub- 
stance. You  cannot  have  a  transparent  crystal  of 
gold ;  but  you  may  have  a  perfectly  pure  one. 

Isabel.  But  you  said  it  was  the  shape  that 
made  things  be  crystals  ;  therefore,  oughtn't  their 
shape  to  be  their  first  virtue,  not  their  second  ? 

L.  Right,  you  troublesome  mousie.  But  I  call 
their  shape  only  their  second  virtue,  because  it 
depends  on  time  and  accident,  and  things  which 
the  crystal  cannot  help.  If  it  is  cooled  too 
quickly,  or  shaken,  it  must  take  what  shape  it 
can  ;  but  it  seems  as  if,  even  then,  it  had  in  itself 
the  power  of  rejecting  impurity,  if  it  has  crystalline 
life  enough.  Here  is  a  crystal  of  quartz,  well 
enough  shaped  in  its  way ;  but  it  seems  to  have 
been  languid  and  sick  at  heart ;  and  some  white 
milky  substance  has  got  into  it,  and  mixed  itself 
up  with  it,  all  through.  It  makes  the  quartz  quite 
yellow,  if  you  hold  it  up  to  the  light,  and  milky 
blue  on  the  surface.  Here  is  another,  broken 
into  a  thousand  separate  facets   and  out  of  all 


84  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

traceable   shape ;     but  as  pure   as   a   mountain 
spring.     I  like  this  one  best. 

The  Audience.   So  do  I — and  I — and  I. 

Mary.   Would  a  crystallographer .? 

L.  I  think  so.  He  would  find  many  more  laws 
curiously  exemplified  in  the  irregularly  grouped  but 
pure  crystal.  But  it  is  a  futile  question,  this  of 
first  or  second.  Purity  is  in  most  cases  a  prior,  if 
not  a  nobler,  virtue  ;  at  all  events  it  is  most  con- 
venient to  think  about  it  first. 

Mary.  But  what  ought  we  to  think  about  it  ? 
Is  there  much  to  be  thought — I  mean,  much  to 
puzzle  one  ? 

L.  I  don't  know  what  you  call  'much.*  It  is  a 
long  time  since  I  met  with  anything  in  which  there 
was  little.  There's  not  much  in  this,  perhaps. 
The  crystal  must  be  either  dirty  or  clean, — and 
there's  an  end.  So  it  is  with  one's  hands,  and 
with  one's  heart — only  you  can  wash  your  hands 
without  changing  them,  but  not  hearts,  nor  crys- 
tals. On  the  whole,  while  you  are  young,  it  will 
be  as  well  to  take  care  that  your  hearts  don't  want 
much  washing  ;  for  they  may  perhaps  need  wring- 
ing also,  when  they  do. 

{Audience   doubtful  and  uncomfortable.     Lu- 
ciLLA  at  last  takes  courage.) 

LuciLLA.  Oh  !  but  surely,  sir,  we  cannot  make 
our  hearts  clean  ? 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  8$ 

L.  Not  easily,  Lucilla  ;  so  you  had  better  keep 
them  so,  when  they  are, 

Lucilla.     When  they  are  !     But,  sir — 

L.   Well? 

Lucilla.  Sir — surely — are  we  not  told  that  they 
are  all  evil? 

L.  Wait  a  little,  Lucilla ;  that  is  difficult  ground 
you  are  getting  upon ;  and  we  must  keep  to  our 
crystals,  till  at  least  we  understand  what  their  good. 
and  evil  consist  in  ;  they  may  help  us  afterwards 
to  some  useful  hints  about  our  own.  I  said  that 
their  goodness  consisted  chiefly  in  purity  of  sub- 
stance, and  perfectness  of  form  :  but  those  are 
rather  the  effects  of  their  goodness,  than  the  good- 
ness itself.  The  inherent  virtues  of  the  crystals, 
resulting  in  these  outer  conditions,  might  really 
seem  to  be  best  described  in  the  words  we  should 
use  respecting  living  creatures — 'force  of  heart' 
and  'steadiness  of  purpose.'  There  seem  to  be 
in  some  crystals,  from  the  beginning,  an  uncon- 
querable purity  of  vital  power,  and  strength  of 
crystal  spirit.  Whatever  dead  substance,  unac- 
ceptant  of  this  energy,  comes  in  their  way,  is 
either  rejected,  or  forced  to  take  some  beautiful 
subordinate  form ;  the  purity  of  the  crystal  re- 
mains unsullied,  and  every  atom  of  it  bright  with 
coherent  energy.  Then  the  second  condition  is, 
that  from  the  beginning  of  its  whole  structure,  a 
fine  crystal  seems  to  have  determined  that  it  will 


86  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

be  of  a  certain  size  and  of  a  certain  shape  ;  it  per- 
sists in  this  plan,  and  completes  it.  Here  is  a 
perfect  crystal  of  quartz  for  you.  It  is  of  an  un- 
usual form,  and  one  which  it  might  seem  very 
difficult  to  build — a  pyramid  with  convex  sides, 
composed  of  other  minor  pyramids.  But  there  is 
not  a  flaw  in  its  contour  throughout ;  not  one  of 
its  myriads  of  component  sides  but  is  as  bright  as 
a  jeweller's  facetted  work  (and  far  finer,  if  you  saw 
it  close).  The  crystal  points  are  as  sharp  as  jave- 
lins ;  their  edges  will  cut  glass  with  a  touch. 
Anything  more  resolute,  consummate,  determi- 
nate in  form,  cannot  be  conceived.  Here,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  a  crystal  of  the  same  substance,  in 
a  perfectly  simple  type  of  form — a  plain  six-sided 
prism  ;  but  from  its  base  to  its  point, — and  it  is 
nine  inches  long, — it  has  never  for  one  instant 
made  up  its  mind  what  thickness  it  will  have.  It 
seems  to  have  begun  by  making  itself  as  thick  as 
it  thought  possible  with  the  quantity  of  material 
at  command.  Still  not  being  as  thick  as  it  would 
like  to  be,  it  has  clumsily  glued  on  more  substance 
at  one  of  its  sides.  Then  it  has  thinned  itself,  in 
a  panic  of  economy  ;  then  puffed  itself  out  again  ; 
then  starved  one  side  to  enlarge  another ;  then 
warped  itself  quite  out  of  its  first  line.  Opaque, 
rough-surfaced,  jagged  on  the  edge,  distorted  in 
the  spine,  it  exhibits  a  quite  human  image  of  de- 
crepitude and  dishonour ;  but  the  worst  of  all  the 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  8/ 

signs  of  its  decay  and  helplessness,  is  that  halfway 
up,  a  parasite  crystal,  smaller,  but  just  as  sickly, 
has  rooted  itself  in  the  side  of  the  larger  one,  eat- 
ing out  a  cavity  round  its  root,  and  then  growing 
backwards,  or  downwards,  contrary  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  main  crystal.  Yet  I  cannot  trace  the 
least  difference  in  purity  of  substance  between  the 
first  most  noble  stone,  and  this  ignoble  and  disso- 
lute one.  The  impurity  of  the  last  is  in  its  will, 
or  want  of  will. 

Mary.  Oh,  if  we  could  but  understand  the 
meaning  of  it  all ! 

L.  We  can  understand  all  that  is  good  for  us. 
It  is  just  as  true  for  us,  as  for  the  crystal,  that  the 
nobleness  of  life  depends  on  its  consistency, — 
clearness  of  purpose, — quiet  and  ceaseless  energy. 
All  doubt,  and  repenting,  and  botching,  and  re- 
touching, and  wondering  what  will  it  be  best  to 
do  next,  are  vice,  as  well  as  misery. 

Mary  {much  wondering).  But  must  not  one  re- 
pent when  one  does  wrong,  and  hesitate  when  one 
can't  see  one's  way  ? 

L.  You  have  no  business  at  all  to  do  wrong ; 
nor  to  get  into  any  way  that  you  cannot  see. 
Your  intelligence  should  always  be  far  in  advance 
of  your  act.  Whenever  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  about,  you  are  sure  to  be  doing  wrong. 

Kathleen.  Oh,  dear,  but  I  never  know  what 
I  am  about  I 


88  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

L.  Very  true,  Katie,  but  it  is  a  great  deal  to 
know,  if  you  know  that.  And  you  find  that  you 
have  done  wrong  afterwards ;  and  perhaps  some 
day  you  may  begin  to  know,  or  at  least,  think, 
what  you  are  about. 

Isabel.  But  surely  people  can't  do  very  wrong 
if  they  don't  know,  can  they  ?  I  mean,  they  can't 
be  very  naughty.  They  can  be  wrong,  like  Kath- 
leen or  me,  when  we  make  mistakes  ;  but  not 
wrong  in  the  dreadful  way.  I  can't  express  what 
I  mean  ;  but  there  are  two  sorts  of  wrong,  are 
there  not  ? 

L.  Yes,  Isabel ;  but  you  will  find  that  the  great 
difference  is  between  kind  and  unkind  wrongs,  not 
between  meant  and  unmeant  wrong.  Very  few 
people  really  mean  to  do  wrong, — in  a  deep  sense, 
none.  They  only  don't  know  what  they  are  about. 
Cain  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong  when  he  killed 
Abel. 

(Isabel  draws  a  deep  breath,  and  opens  her  eyes 
very  wide.) 

L.  No,  Isabel  ;  and  there  are  countless  Cains 
among  us  now,  who  kill  their  brothers  by  the  score 
a  day,  not  only  for  less  provocation  than  Cain  had, 
but  for  no  provocation, — and  merely  for  what  they 
can  make  of  their  bones, — yet  do  not  think  they 
are  doing  wrong  in  the  least.  Then  sometimes 
you  have  the  business  reversed,  as  over  in  America 
these  last  years,  where  you  have  seen  Abel  reso- 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  89 

lutely  killing  Cain,  and  not  thinking  he  is  doing 
wrong.  The  great  difficulty  is  always  to  open 
people's  eyes  :  to  touch  their  feelings,  and  break 
their  hearts,  is  easy  ;  the  difficult  thing  is  to  break 
their  heads.  What  does  it  matter,  as  long  as  they 
remain  stupid,  whether  you  change  their  feelings 
or  not .?  You  cannot  be  always  at  their  elbow  to 
tell  them  what  is  right  :  and  they  may  just  do  as 
wrong  as  before,  or  worse  ;  and  their  best  inten- 
tions merely  make  the  road  smooth  for  them, — 
you  know  where,  children.  For  it  is  not  the 
place  itself  that  is  paved  with  them,  as  people  say 
so  often.  You  can't  pave  the  bottomless  pit ;  but 
you  may  the  road  to  it. 

May.  Well,  but  if  people  do  as  well  as  they  can 
see  how,  surely  that  is  the  right  for  them,  isn't  it  ? 

L.  No,  May,  not  a  bit  of  it ;  right  is  right,  and 
wrong  is  wrong.  It  is  only  the  fool  who  does 
wrong,  and  says  he  'did  it  for  the  best.'  And  if 
there's  one  sort  of  person  in  the  world  that  the 
Bible  speaks  harder  of  than  another,  it  is  fools. 
Their  particular  and  chief  way  of  saying  *  There  is 
no  God  '  is  this,  of  declaring  that  whatever  their 
'  public  opinion '  may  be,  is  right :  and  that  God's 
opinion  is  of  no  consequence. 

May.  But  surely  nobody  can  always  know  what 
is  right  ? 

L.  Yes,  you  always  can,  for  to-day ;  and  if  you 
do  what  you  see  of  it  to-day,  you  will  see  more  of 


go  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

it,  and  more  clearly,  to-morrow.  Here  for  in- 
stance, you  children  are  at  school,  and  have  to 
learn  French,  and  arithmetic,  and  music,  and 
several  other  such  things.  That  is  your  '  right ' 
for  the  present  ;  the  '  right '  for  us,  your  teachers, 
is  to  see  that  you  learn  as  much  as  you  can,  with- 
out spoiling  your  dinner,  your  sleep,  or  your  play ; 
and  that  what  you  do  learn,  you  learn  well.  You 
all  know  when  you  learn  with  a  will,  and  when 
you  dawdle.  There's  no  doubt  of  conscience 
about  that,  I  suppose } 

Violet.  No  ;  but  if  one  wants  to  read  an  amus- 
ing book,  instead  of  learning  one's  lesson  ? 

L.  You  don't  call  that  a  'question,'  seriously, 
Violet?  You  are  then  merely  deciding  whether 
you  will  resolutely  do  wrong  or  not. 

Mary.  But,  in  after  life,  how  many  fearful  diflB- 
culties  may  arise,  however  one  tries  to  know  or  to 
do  what  is  right ! 

L.  You  are  much  too  sensible  a  girl,  Mary,  to 
have  felt  that,  whatever  you  may  have  seen.  A 
great  many  of  young  ladies'  difficulties  arise  from 
their  falling  in  love  with  a  wrong  person  ;  but 
they  have  no  business  to  let  themselves  fall  in  love, 
till  they  known  he  is  the  right  one. 

Dora.  How  many  thousands  ought  he  to  have 
a  year .? 

L.  {disdaining  reply.)  There  are,  of  course, 
certain  crises  of  fortune  when  one  has  to  take  care 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  9 1 

of  oneself,  and  mind  shrewdly  what  one  is  about. 
There  is  never  any  real  doubt  about  the  path,  but 
you  may  have  to  walk  very  slowly. 

Mary.  And  if  one  is  forced  to  do  a  wrong  thing 
by  some  one  who  has  authority  over  you  ? 

L.  My  dear,  no  one  can  be  forced  to  do  a 
wrong  thing,  for  the  guilt  is  in  the  will :  but  you 
may  any  day  be  forced  to  do  a  fatal  thing,  as  you 
might  be  forced  to  take  poison ;  the  remarkable 
law  of  nature  in  such  cases  being,  that  it  is  always 
unfortunate  you  who  are  poisoned,  and  not  the 
person  who  gives  you  the  dose.  It  is  a  very 
strange  law,  but  it  is  a  law.  Nature  merely  sees 
to  the  carrying  out  of  the  normal  operation  of  ar- 
senic. She  never  troubles  herself  to  ask  who  gave 
it  you.  So  also  you  may  be  starved  to  death, 
morally  as  well  as  physically,  by  other  people's 
faults.  You  are,  on  the  whole,  very  good  child- 
ren sitting  here  to-day  ;  do  you  think  that  your 
goodness  comes  all  by  your  own  contriving  ?  or  that 
you  are  gentle  and  kind  because  your  dispositions 
are  naturally  more  angelic  than  those  of  the  poor 
girls  who  are  playing,  with  wild  eyes,  on  the  dust- 
heaps  in  the  alleys  of  our  great  towns  ;  and  who 
will  one  day  fill  their  prisons, — or,  better,  their 
graves  ?  Heaven  only  knows  where  they,  and  we 
who  have  cast  them  there,  shall  stand  at  last.  But 
the  main  judgment  question  will  be,  I  suppose, 
for  all  of  us,  '  Did  you  keep  a  good  heart  through 


92  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

it  ?  '  What  you  were,  others  may  answer  for  ; — 
what  you  tried  to  be,  you  must  answer  for,  your- 
self.    Was  the  heart  pure  and  true — tell  us  that  ? 

And  so  we  come  back  to  your  sorrowful  ques- 
tion, Lucilla,  which  I  put  aside  a  little  ago.  You 
would  be  afraid  to  answer  that  your  heart  was 
pure  and  true,  would  not  you  ? 

Lucilla.   Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

L.  Because  you  have  been  taught  that  it  is  all 
evil — '  only  evil  continually.'  Somehow,  often  as 
people  say  that,  they  never  seem,  to  me,  to  believe 
it.     Do  you  really  believe  it .? 

Lucilla.  Yes,  sir  ;  I  hope  so. 

L.  That  you  have  an  entirely  bad  heart  ? 

Lucilla  (a  little  uncomfortable  at  the  substitution 
of  the  monosyllable  for  the  dissyllable,  nevertheless 
persisting  in  her  orthodoxy).     Yes,  sir. 

L.  Florrie,  I  am  sure  you  are  tired  ;  I  never 
like  you  to  stay  when  you  are  tired  ;  but,  you 
know,  you  must  not  play  with  the  kitten  while 
we're  talking. 

Florrie.  Oh  !  but  I'm  not  tired  ;  and  I'm  only 
nursing  her.     She'll  be  asleep  in  my  lap,  directly. 

L.  Stop  !  that  puts  me  in  mind  of  something  I 
had  to  show  you,  about  minerals  that  are  like  hair. 
I  want  a  hair  out  of  Tittie's  tail. 

Florrie  {quite  rude,  in  her  surprise,  even  to  the 
point  of  repeating  expressions).  Out  of  Tittie's 
tail! 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  93 

L.  Yes  ;  a  brown  one  :  Lucilla,  you  can  get  at 
the  tip  of  it  nicely,  under  Florrie's  arm  ;  just  pull 
one  out  for  me. 

Lucilla:   Oh  !  but,  sir,  it  will  hurt  her  so  ! 

L.  Never  mind  ;  she  can't  scratch  you  while 
Florrie  is  holding  her.  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  you 
had  better  pull  out  two. 

Lucilla.  But  then  she  may  scratch  Florrie  !: 
and  it  will  hurt  her  so,  sir  1  if  you  only  want 
brown  hairs,  wouldn't  two  of  mine  do  ? 

L.  Would  you  really  rather  pull  out  your  own 
than  Tittle's  ? 

Lucilla.  Oh,  of  course,  if  mine  will  do. 

L.  But  that's  very  wicked,  Lucilla  ! 

Lucilla.  Wicked,  sir.? 

L.  Yes ;  if  your  heart  was  not  so  bad,  you 
would  much  rather  pull  all  the  cat's  hairs  out, 
than  one  of  your  own. 

Lucilla.  Oh  !  but,  sir,  I  didn't  mean  bad  like 
that. 

L.  1  believe,  if  the  truth  were  told,  Lucilla,  you 
Would  like  to  tie  a  kettle  to  Tittle's  tail,  and  hunt 
her  round  the  playground. 

Lucilla.   Indeed,  I  should  not,  sir. 

L.  That's  not  true,  Lucilla  ;  you  know  it  can- 
not be. 

Lucilla.   Sir  ? 

L,   Certainly  it  is  not ; — how  can  you  possibly 


94  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

speak  any  truth  out  of  such  a  heart  as  you  have  ? 
It  is  wholly  deceitful. 

LuciLLA.  Oh  !  no,  no  ;  I  don't  mean  that  way; 
I  don't  mean  that  it  makes  me  tell  lies,  quite  out. 

L.  Only  that  it  tells  lies  within  you  ? 

LuciLLA.   Yes. 

L.  Then,  outside  of  it,  you  know  what  is  true, 
and  say  so  ;  and  I  may  trust  the  outside  of  your 
heart ;  but  within,  it  is  all  foul  and  false.  Is  that 
the  way  ? 

LuciLLA.  I  suppose  so  :  I  don't  understand  it 
quite. 

L.  There  is  no  occasion  for  understanding  it  ; 
but  do  you  feel  it?  Are  you  sure  that  your  heart 
is  deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately 
wicked .-' 

LuciLLA  {much  relieved  by  finding  herself  among 
phrases  with  which  she  is  acquainted).  Yes,  sir. 
I'm  sure  of  that. 

L.   {pensively).   I'm  sorry  for  it,  Lucilla. 

LuciLLA.   So  am  I,  indeed. 

L.   What  are  you  sorry  with,  Lucilla  ? 

LuciLLA.   Sorry  with,  sir  ? 

L.  Yes ;  I  mean,  where  do  you  feel  sorry,  in 
your  feet  ? 

LuciLLA  {laughing  a  little).      No,  sir,  of  course. 

L.   In  your  shoulders,  then  ? 

LuciLLA.  No,  sir. 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  95 

L.  You  are  sure  of  that  ?  Because,  I  fear,  sor- 
row in  the  shoulders  would  not  be  worth  much. 

LuciLLA.  I  suppose  I  feel  it  in  my  heart,  if  I 
really  am  sorry. 

L.  If  you  really  are  I  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  are  sure  you  are  utterly  wicked,  and  yet  do 
not  care  ? 

LuciLLA.  No,  indeed  ;  I  have  cried  about  it 
often. 

L.   Well,  then,  you  are  sorry  in  your  heart  ? 

LuciLLA.  Yes,  when  the  sorrow  is  worth  any- 
thing. 

L.  Even  if  it  be  not,  it  cannot  be  anywhere 
else  but  there.  It  is  not  the  crystalline  lens  of 
your  eyes  which  is  sorry,  when  you  cry  ? 

LuciLLA.   No,  sir,  of  course. 

L.  Then,  have  you  two  hearts ;  one  of  which 
is  wicked,  and  the  other  grieved  ?  or  is  one  side  of 
it  sorry  for  the  other  side  ? 

LuciLLA  {weary  of  cross-examination,  and  a  little 
vexed).  Indeed,  sir,  you  know  I  can't  understand 
it ;  but  you  know  how  it  is  WTitten — '  another  law 
n  my  members,  warring  against  the  law  of  my 
mind.' 

L.  Yes,  Lucilla,  I  know  how  it  is  written ;  but 
I  do  not  see  that  it  will  help  us  to  know  that,  if 
we  neither  understand  what  is  written,  nor  feel  it. 
And  you  will  not  get  nearer  to  the  meaning  of 
one  verse,  if,  as  soon  as  you  are  puzzled  by  it, 


96  THE   ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

you  escape  to  another,  introducing  three  new 
words — 'law,'  '  members,' and  'mind';  not  one 
of  which  you  at  present  know  the  meaning  of; 
and  respecting  which,  you  probably  never  will  be 
much  wiser ;  since  men  like  Montesquieu  and 
Locke  have  spent  great  part  of  their  lives  in  en- 
deavouring to  explain  two  of  them. 

LuciLLA.   Oh  !  please,  sir,  ask  somebody  else. 

L.  If  I  thought  any  one  else  could  answer  bet- 
ter than  you,  Lucilla,  I  would  :  but  suppose  I 
try,  instead,  myself,  to  explain  your  feelings  to 
you? 

Lucilla.   Oh,  yes ;  please  do. 

L.  Mind,  I  say  your  'feelings,'  not  your  'be- 
lief.' For  I  cannot  undertake  to  explain  any- 
body's beliefs.  Still  I  must  try  a  little,  first,  to 
explain  the  belief  also,  because  I  want  to  draw  it 
to  some  issue.  As  far  as  I  understand  what  you 
say,  or  any  one  else,  taught  as  you  have  been 
taught,  says,  on  this  matter, — ^you  think  that  there 
is  an  external  goodness,  a  whited-sepulchre  kind 
of  goodness,  which  appears  beautiful  outwardly, 
but  is  within  full  of  uncleanness  :  a  deep  secret 
guilt,  of  which  we  ourselves  are  not  sensible  ;  and 
which  can  only  be  seen  by  the  Maker  of  us  all. 
{Approving  murmurs  from  audience.) 

L.  Is  it  not  so  with  the  body  as  well  as  the 
soul  ? 

{Looked  notes  of  inferrogation. ) 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  9/ 

L.   A   skull,    for   instance,   is   not   a   beautiful 
thing  ? 

{Grave  faces,  signifying  'Certainly  not,'  and 
'  What  next  P ') 
L.  And  if  you  all  could  see  in  each  other,  with 
clear  eyes,  whatever  God  sees  beneath  those  fair 
faces  of  yours,  you  would  not  like  it  ? 
{Murmured  No's. ) 
L.   Nor  would  it  be  good  for  you  ? 

{Silence.) 
L.  The  probability  being  that  what  God  does 
not  allow  you  to  see,  He  does  not  wish  you  to 
see  ;  nor  even  to  think  of? 
{Silence  prolonged. ) 
L.   It  would  not  at  all  be  good  for  you,  for  in- 
stance, whenever  you  were  washing  your  faces, 
and   braiding  your  hair,   to   be  thinking   of  the 
shapes  of  the  jawbones,  and  of  the  cartilage  of  the 
nose,  and  of  the  jagged  sutures  of  the  scalp  ? 
{Resolutely  whispered  No's. ) 
L.   Still  less,  to  see  through  a  clear  glass  the 
daily  processes  of  nourishment  and  decay  ? 
{No.) 
L.   Still  less  if  instead  of  merely  inferior  and 
preparatory  conditions  of  structure,  as  in  the  skel- 
eton,— or  inferior  offices  of  structure,  as  in  oper- 
ations of  life  and  death, — there  were  actual  disease 
in  the  body  ;  ghastly  and  dreadful.      You  would 
try  to  cure  it ;  but  having  taken  such  measures  as 


98  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

were  necessary,  you  would  not  think  the  cure  like- 
ly to  be  promoted  by  perpetually  watching  the 
wounds,  or  thinking  of  them.  On  the  contrary, 
you  would  be  thankful  for  every  moment  of  for- 
getfulness :  as,  in  daily  health,  you  must  be 
thankful  that  your  Maker  has  veiled  whatever  is 
fearful  in  your  frame  under  a  sweet  and  manifest 
beauty ;  and  has  made  it  your  duty,  and  your 
only  safety,  to  rejoice  in  that,  both  in  yourself 
and  in  others  : — not  indeed  concealing,  or  refus- 
ing to  believe  in  sickness,  if  it  come  ;  but  never 
dwelling  on  it. 

Now,  your  wisdom  and  duty  touching  soul- 
sickness  are  just  the  same.  Ascertain  clearly  what 
is  wrong  with  you  ;  and  so  far  as  you  know  any 
means  of  mending  it,  take  those  means,  and  have 
done  :  when  you  are  examining  yourself,  never 
call  yourself  merely  a  '  sinner,'  that  is  very  cheap 
abuse  ;  and  utterly  useless.  You  may  even  get  to 
like  it,  and  be  proud  of  it.  But  call  yourself  a 
liar,  a  coward,  a  sluggard,  a  glutton,  or  an  evil- 
eyed,  jealous  wretch,  if  you  indeed  find  yourself 
to  be  in  any  wise  any  of  these.  Take  steady 
means  to  check  yourself  in  whatever  fault  you  have 
ascertained,  and  justly  accused  yourself  of.  And 
as  soon  as  you  are  in  active  way  of  mending,  you 
will  be  no  more  inclined  to  moan  over  an  unde- 
fined corruption.  For  the  rest,  you  will  find  it 
less  easy  to  uproot  faults,  than  to  choke  them  by 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  99 

gaining  virtues.  Do  not  think  of  your  faults  ; 
still  less  of  others'  faults  :  in  every  person  who 
comes  near  you,  look  for  what  is  good  and  strong : 
honour  that ;  rejoice  in  it ;  and,  as  you  can,  try 
to  imitate  it :  and  your  faults  will  drop  off  like 
dead  leaves,  when  their  time  comes.  If,  on  look- 
ing back,  your  whole  life  should  seem  rugged  as 
a  palm  tree  stem  ;  still,  never  mind,  so  long  as  it 
has  been  growing  ;  and  has  its  grand  green  shade 
of  leaves,  and  weight  of  honied  fruit,  at  top.  And 
even  if  you  cannot  find  much  good  in  yourself  at 
last,  think  that  it  does  not  much  matter  to  the 
universe  either  what  you  were,  or  are  ;  think  how 
many  people  are  noble,  if  you  cannot  be  ;  and 
rejoice  in  their  nobleness.  An  immense  quantity 
of  modern  confession  of  sin,  even  when  honest,  is 
merely  a  sickly  egotism  ;  which  will  rather  gloat 
over  its  own  evil,  than  lose  the  centralization  of 
its  interest  in  itself. 

Mary.  But  then,  if  we  ought  to  forget  ourselves 
so  much,  how  did  the  old  Greek  proverb  '  Know 
thyself  come  to  be  so  highly  esteemed  ? 

L.  My  dear,  it  is  the  proverb  of  proverbs  ; 
Apollo's  proverb,  and  the  sun's — but  do  you  think 
you  can  know  yourself  by  looking  inio  yourself? 
Never.  You  can  know  what  you  are,  only  by 
looking  out  of  yourself.  Measure  your  own 
powers  with  those  of  others  ;  compare  your  own 
interests  with  those  of  others  ;  try  to  understand 


100  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

what  you  appear  to  them,  as  well  as  what  they 
appear  to  you  ;  and  judge  of  yourselves,  in  all 
things,  relatively  and  subordinately ;  not  posi- 
tively :  starting  always  with  a  wholesome  convic- 
tion of  the  probability  that  there  is  nothing  par- 
ticular about  you.  For  instance,  some  of  you 
perhaps  think  you  can  write  poetry.  Dwell  on 
your  own  feelings  ;  and  doings  : — and  you  will 
soon  think  yourselves  Tenth  Muses ;  but  forget 
your  own  feeling  ;  and  try,  instead,  to  understand 
a  line  or  two  of  Chaucer  or  Dante  :  and  you  will 
soon  begin  to  feel  yourselves  very  foolish  girls — 
which  is  much  like  the  fact. 

So,  something  which  befalls  you  may  seem  a 
great  misfortune  ; — you  meditate  over  its  effects 
on  you  personally ;  and  begin  to  think  that  it  is  a 
chastisement,  or  a  warning,  or  a  this  or  that  or 
the  other  of  profound  significance  ;  and  that  all 
the  angels  in  heaven  have  left  their  business  for  a 
little  while,  that  they  may  watch  its  effects  on  your 
mind.  But  give  up  this  egotistic  indulgence  of 
your  fancy  ;  examine  a  little  what  misfortunes, 
greater  a  thousandfold,  are  happening,  every 
second,  to  twenty  times  worthier  persons  :  and 
your  self-consciousness  will  change  into  pity  and 
humility ;  and  you  will  know  yourself,  so  far  as 
to  understand  that  'there  hath  nothing  taken 
thee  but  what  is  common  to  man.' 

Now,  Lucilla,  these  are   the  practical   conclu- 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES.  lOI 

sions  which  any  person  of  sense  would  arrive  at, 
supposing  the  texts  which  relate  to  the  inner  evil 
of  the  heart  were  as  many,  and  as  prominent,  as 
they  are  often  supposed  to  be  by  careless  readers. 
But  the  way  in  which  common  people  read  their 
Bibles  is  just  like  the  way  that  the  old  monks 
thought  hedgehogs  ate  grapes.  They  rolled  them- 
selves (it  was  said),  over  and  over,  where  the 
grapes  lay  on  the  ground.  What  fruit  stuck  to 
their  spines,  they  carried  off,  and  ate.  So  your 
hedgehoggy  readers  roll  themselves  over  and  over 
their  Bibles,  and  declare  that  whatever  sticks  to 
their  own  spines  is  Scripture,  and  that  nothing  else 
is.  But  you  can  only  get  the  skins  of  the  texts 
that  way.  If  you  want  their  juice,  you  must  press 
them  in  cluster.  Now,  the  clustered  texts  about 
the  human  heart,  insist,  as  a  body,  not  on  any 
inherent  corruption  in  all  hearts,  but  on  the  terrific 
distinction  between  the  bad  and  the  good  ones. 
'  A  good  man,  out  of  the  good  treasure  of  his  heart, 
bringeth  forth  that  which  is  good  ;  and  an  evil 
man,  out  of  the  evil  treasure,  bringeth  forth  that 
which  is  evil. '  '  They  on  the  rock  are  they  which, 
in  an  honest  and  good  heart,  having  heard  the 
word,  keep  it'  'Delight  thyself  in  the  Lord,  and 
He  shall  give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  heart.' 
*  The  wicked  have  bent  their  bow,  that  they  may 
privily  shoot  at  him  that  is  upright  in  heart.'  And 
so  on ;  they  are   countless,  to   the   same   effect. 


102  THE   ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

And,  for  all  of  us,  the  question  is  not  at  all  to 
ascertain  how  much  or  how  little  corruption  there 
is  in  human  nature  ;  but  to  ascertain  whether,  out 
of  all  the  mass  of  that  nature,  we  are  of  the  sheep 
or  the  goat  breed ;  whether  we  are  people  of  up- 
right heart,  being  shot  at,  or  people  of  crooked 
heart,  shooting.  And,  of  all  the  texts  bearing  on 
the  subject,  this,  which  is  a  quite  simple  and  prac- 
tical order,  is  the  one  you  have  chiefly  to  hold  in 
mind.  '  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence,  for  out 
of  it  are  the  issues  of  life. ' 

LuciLLA.  And  yet,  how  inconsistent  the  texts 
seem  ! 

L.  Nonsense,  Lucilla  !  do  you  think  the  uni- 
verse is  bound  to  look  consistent  to  a  girl  of  fifteen } 
Look  up  at  your  own  room  window  ; — you  can 
just  see  it  from  where  you  sit.  I'm  glad  that  it  is 
left  open,  as  it  ought  to  be,  in  so  fine  a  day.  But 
do  you  see  what  a  black  spot  it  looks,  in  the  sun- 
lighted  wall  ? 

Lucilla.   Yes,  it  looks  as  black  as  ink.    * 

L.  Yet  you  know  it  is  a  very  bright  room  when 
you  are  inside  of  it ;  quite  as  bright  as  there  is  any 
occasion  for  it  to  be,  that  its  little  lady  may  see  to 
keep  it  tid)'.  Well,  it  is  very  probable,  also,  that 
if  you  could  look  into  your  heart  from  the  sun's 
point  of  view,  it  might  appear  a  very  black  hole 
indeed  :  nay,  the  sun  may  sometimes  think  good 
to  tell  you  that  it  looks  so   to  Him  ;  but  He  will 


CRYSTAL    VIRTUES. 


103 


come  into  it,  and  make  it  very  cheerful  for  you, 
for  all  that,  if  you  don't  put  the  shutters  up.  And 
the  one  question  ioxyou,  remember,  is  not  '  dark 
or  light  ? '  but  '  tidy  or  untidy  ? '  Look  well  to 
your  sweeping  and  garnishing ;  and  be  sure  it  is 
only  the  banished  spirit,  or  some  of  the  seven 
wickeder  ones  at  his  back,  who  will  still  whisper 
to  you  that  it  is  all  black. 


ttttnxc  6. 
CRYSTAL   QUARRELS. 


LECTURE  VI. 

CMYSTAL  QUARRELS. 

Full  conclave,  in  Schoolroom.  There  has  been  a 
game  at  crystallisation  in  the  morning,  of  which 
various  account  has  to  be  rendered.  In  particu- 
lar, everybody  has  to  explain  why  they  were  al- 
ways where  they  were  not  intended  to  be. 

L.  {having  received  and  considered  the  report. ) 
You  have  got  on  pretty  well,  children  :  but  you 
know  these  were  easy  figures  you  have  been  try- 
ing. Wait  till  I  have  drawn  you  out  the  plans  of 
some  crystals  of  snow  ! 

Mary.  I  don't  think  those  will  be  the  most 
difficult : — they  are  so  beautiful  that  we  shall  re- 
member our  places  better ;  and  then  they  are  all 
regular,  and  in  stars  :  it  is  those  twisty  oblique 
ones  we  are  afraid  of 

L.  Read  Carlyle's  account  of  the  battle  of 
Leu  then,  and  learn  Friedrich's  'oblique  order.' 
You  will  '  get  it  done  for  once,  I  think,  provided 
you  can  march  as  a  pair  of  compasses  would.' 
But  remember,  when  you  can  construct  the  most 

107 


I08  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

difficult  single  figures,  you  have  only  learned  half 
the  game — nothing  so  much  as  the  half,  indeed,  as 
the  crystals  themselves  play  it. 

Mary.   Indeed ;  what  else  is  there  ? 

L.  It  is  seldom  that  any  mineral  crystallises 
alone.  Usually  two  or  three,  under  quite  different 
crystalline  laws,  form  together.  They  do  this  ab- 
solutely without  flaw  or  fault,  when  they  are  in 
fine  temper :  and  observe  what  this  signifies.  It 
signifies  that  the  two,  or  more,  minerals  of  differ- 
ent natures  agree,  somehow,  between  themselves, 
how  much  space  each  will  want ; — agree  which  of 
them  shall  give  way  to  the  other  at  their  junction  ; 
or  in  what  measure  each  will  accommodate  itself 
to  the  other's  shape !  And  then  each  takes  its 
permitted  shape,  and  allotted  share  of  space  ; 
yielding,  or  being  yielded  to,  as  it  builds  till  each 
crystal  has  fitted  itself  perfectly  and  gracefully  to 
its  differently-natured  neighbour.  So  that,  in 
order  to  practise  this,  in  even  the  simplest  terms, 
you  must  divide  into  two  parties,  wearing  different 
colours ;  each  must  choose  a  different  figure  to 
construct ;  and  you  must  form  one  of  these  figures 
through  the  other,  both  going  on  at  the  same  time. 

Mary.  I  think  we  may,  perhaps,  manage  it ; 
but  I  cannot  at  all  understand  how  the  crystals 
do.  It  seems  to  imply  so  much  preconcerting  of 
plan,  and  so  much  giving  way  to  each  other,  as  if 
they  really  were  living. 


CRYSTAL   QUARRELS.  IO9 

L.  Yes,  it  implies  both  concurrence  and  com- 
promise, regulating  all  wilfulness  of  design  :  and, 
more  curious  still,  the  crystals  do  not  always  give 
way  to  each  other.  They  show  exactly  the  same 
varieties  of  temper  that  human  creatures  might. 
Sometimes  they  yield  the  required  place  with  per- 
fect grace  and  courtesy  ;  forming  fantastic,  but 
exquisitely  finished  groups  :  and  sometimes  they 
will  not  yield  at  all ;  but  fight  furiously  for  their 
places,  losing  all  shape  and  honour,  and  even  their 
own  likeness,  in  the  contest. 

Mary.  But  is  not  that  wholly  wonderful  ?  How 
is  it  that  one  never  sees  it  spoken  of  in  books .? 

L.  The  scientific  men  are  all  busy  in  determin- 
ing the  constant  laws  under  which  the  struggle 
takes  place ;  these  indefinite  humours  of  the  ele- 
ments are  of  no  interest  to  them.  And  unscien- 
tific people  rarely  give  themselves  the  trouble  of 
thinking  at  all,  when  they  look  at  stones.  Not 
that  it  is  of  much  use  to  think ;  the  more  one 
thinks,  the  more  one  is  puzzled. 

Mary.  Surely  it  is  more  wonderful  than  any- 
thing in  botany  ? 

L.  Everything  has  its  own  wonders  ;  but,  given 
the  nature  of  the  plant,  it  is  easier  to  understand 
what  a  flower  will  do,  and  why  it  does  it,  than, 
given  anything  we  as  yet  know  of  stone-nature,  to 
understand  what  a  crystal  will  do,  and  why  it 
does  it.     You  at  once  admit  a  kind  of  volition 


no  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

and  choice,  in  the  flower ;  but  we  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  attribute  anything  of  the  kind  to  the 
crystal.  ,  Yet  there  is,  in  reaUty,  more  likeness  to 
some  conditions  of  human  feeling  among  stones 
than  among  plants.  There  is  a  far  greater  diff"er- 
ence  between  kindly-tempered  and  ill-tempered 
crystals  of  the  same  mineral,  than  between  any 
two  specimens  of  the  same  flower  :  and  the  friend- 
ships and  wars  of  crystals  depend  more  definitely 
and  curiously  on  their  varieties  of  disposition, 
than  any  associations  of  flowers.  Here,  for  in- 
stance, is  a  good  garnet,  living  with  good  mica ; 
one  rich  red,  and  the  other  silver  white  ;  the  mica 
leaves  exactly  room  enough  for  the  garnet  to  crys- 
tallise comfortably  in  ;  and  the  garnet  lives  happily 
in  its  little  white  house  ;  fitted  to  it,  like  a  pholas 
in  its  cell.  But  here  are  wicked  garnets  living 
with  wicked  mica.  See  what  ruin  they  make  of 
each  other !  You  cannot  tell  which  is  which  ; 
the  garnets  look  like  dull  red  stains  on  the  crum- 
bling stone.  By  the  way,  I  never  could  under- 
stand, if  St.  Gothard  is  a  real  saint,  why  he  can't 
keep  his  garnets  in  better  order.  These  are  all 
under  his  care  ;  but  I  suppose  there  are  too  many 
of  them  for  him  to  look  after.  The  streets  of 
Airolo  are  paved  with  them. 

May.   Paved  with  garnets? 

L.  With  mica-slate  and  garnets ;  I  broke  this 
bit  out  of  a  paving  stone.     Now  garnets  and  mica 


CRYSTAL   QUARRELS.  Ill 

are  natural  friends,  and  generally  fond  of  each 
other ;  but  you  see  how  they  quarrel  when  they 
are  ill  brought  up.  So  it  is  always.  Good  crys- 
tals are  friendly  with  almost  all  other  good  crystals, 
however  little  they  chance  to  see  of  each  other,  or 
however  opposite  their  habits  may  be ;  while 
wicked  crystals  quarrel  with  one  another,  though 
they  may  be  exactly  alike  in  habits,  and  see  each 
other  continually.  And  of  course  the  wicked 
crystals  quarrel  with  the  good  ones. 

Isabel.  Then  do  the  good  ones  get  angry  ? 

L.  No,  never  :  they  attend  to  their  own  work 
and  life  ;  and  live  it  as  well  as  they  can,  though 
they  are  always  the  sufferers.  Here,  for  instance, 
is  a  rock  crystal  of  the  purest  race  and  finest  tem- 
per, who  was  born,  unhappily  for  him,  in  a  bad 
neighbourhood,  near  Beaufort  in  Savoy ;  and  he 
has  had  to  fight  with  vile  calcareous  mud  all  his 
life.  See  here,  when  he  was  but  a  child,  it  came 
down  on  him,  and  nearly  buried  him  ;  a  weaker 
crystal  would  have  died  in  despair  ;  but  he  only 
gathered  himself  together,  like  Hercules  against 
the  serpents,  and  threw  a  layer  of  crystal  over  the 
clay;  conquered  it, — imprisoned  it, — and  lived 
on.  Then,  when  he  was  a  little  older,  came  more 
clay  ;  and  poured  itself  upon  him  here,  at  the 
side  ;  and  he  has  laid  crystal  over  that,  and  lived 
on,  in  his  purity.  Then  the  clay  came  on  at  his 
angles,  and  tried  to  cover  them,  and  round  them 


112  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

away ;  but  upon  that  he  threw  out  buttress-crystals 
at  his  angles,  all  as  true  to  his  own  central  line  as 
chapels  round  a  cathedral  apse ;  and  clustered 
them  round  the  clay;  and  conquered  it  again. 
At  last  the  clay  came  on  at  his  summit,  and  tried 
to  blunt  his  summit ;  but  he  could  not  endure 
that  for  an  instant ;  and  left  his  flanks  all  rough, 
but  pure  ;  and  fought  the  clay  at  his  crest,  and 
built  crest  over  crest  and  peak  over  peak,  till  the 
clay  surrendered  at  last,  and  here  is  his  summit, 
smooth  and  pure,  terminating  a  pyramid  of  alter- 
nate clay  and  crystal,  half  a  foot  high  ! 

Lily.  Oh,  how  nice  of  him  !  What  a  dear, 
brave  crystal  !  But  I  can't  bear  to  see  his  flanks 
all  broken,  and  the  clay  within  them. 

L.  Yes  ;  it  was  an  evil  chance  for  him,  the  be- 
ing born  to  such  contention ;  there  are  some 
enemies  so  base  that  even  to  hold  them  captive  is 
a  kind  of  dishonour.  But  look,  here  has  been 
quite  a  diff"erent  kind  of  struggle  :  the  adverse 
power  has  been  more  orderly,  and  has  fought  the 
pure  crystal  in  ranks  as  firm  as  its  own.  This  is 
not  mere  rage  and  impediment  of  crowded  evil : 
here  is  a  disciplined  hostility  ;  army  against  army. 

Lily.    Oh,  but  this  is  much  more  beautiful  I 

L.  Yes,  for  both  the  elements  have  true  virtue 
in  them  ;  it  is  a  pity  they  are  at  war,  but  they  war 
grandly. 


CRYSTAL    QUARRELi,.  II3 

Mary.  But  is  this  the  same  clay  as  in  the  other 
crystal ? 

L.  I  used  the  word  clay  for  shortness.  In  both, 
the  enemy  is  really  limestone ;  but  in  the  first, 
disordered,  and  mixed  with  true  clay ;  while,  here, 
it  is  nearly  pure,  and  crystallises  into  its  own 
primitive  form,  the  oblique  six-sided  one,  which 
you  know  :  and  out  of  these  it  makes  regiments  ; 
and  then  squares  of  the  regiments,  and  so  charges 
the  rock  crystal,  literally  in  square  against  column. 

Isabel.  Please,  please,  let  me  see.  And  what 
does  the  rock  crystal  do  ? 

L.  The  rock  crystal  seems  able  to  do  nothing. 
The  calcite  cuts  it  through  at  every  charge.  Look 
here, — and  here !  The  loveliest  crystal  in  the 
whole  group  is  hewn  fairly  into  two  pieces. 

Isabel.  Oh,  dear ;  but  is  the  calcite  harder  than 
the  crystal  then  ? 

L.   No,  softer.     Very  much  softer. 

Mary.  But  then,  how  can  it  possibly  cut  the 
crystal ? 

L.  It  did  not  really  cut  it,  though  it  passes 
through  it.  The  two  were  formed  together,  as  I 
told  you ;  but  no  one  knows  how.  Still,  it  is 
strange  that  this  hard  quartz  has  in  all  cases  a 
good-natured  way  with  it,  of  yielding  to  everything 
else.  All  sorts  of  soft  things  make  nests  for  them- 
selves in  it ;  and  it  never  makes  a  nest  for  itself  in 
anything.     It  has  all  the  rough  outside  work  ;  and 


114  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

every  sort  of  cowardly  and  weak  mineral  can 
shelter  itself  within  it.  Look  ;  these  are  hexagonal 
plates  of  mica  ;  if  they  were  outside  of  this  crystal 
they  would  break,  like  burnt  paper ;  but  they  are 
inside  of  it, — nothing  can  hurt  them, — the  crj'stal 
has  taken  them  into  its  very  heart,  keeping  all 
their  delicate  edges  as  sharp  as  if  they  were  under 
water,  instead  of  bathed  in  rock.  Here  is  a  piece 
of  branched  silver  :  you  can  bend  it  with  a  touch 
of  your  finger,  but  the  stamp  of  its  every  fibre  is 
on  the  rock  in  which  it  lay,  as  if  the  quartz  had 
been  as  soft  as  wool. 

Lily.  Oh,  the  good,  good  quartz  !  But  does 
it  never  get  inside  of  anything } 

L.  As  it  is  a  little  Irish  girl  who  asks,  I  may 
perhaps  answer,  without  being  laughed  at,  that  it 
gets  inside  of  itself  sometimes.  But  I  don't  re- 
member seeing  quartz  make  a  nest  for  itself  in 
anything  else. 

Isabel.  Please,  there  was  something  I  heard 
you  talking  about,  last  time,  with  Miss  Mary.  I 
was  at  my  lessons,  but  I  heard  something  about 
nests ;  and  I  thought  it  was  birds'  nests ;  and  I 
couldn't  help  listening ;  and  then,  I  remember,  it 
was  about  '  nests  of  quartz  in  granite. '  I  remem- 
ber, because  I  was  so  disappointed  ! 

L.  Yes,  mousie,  you  remember  quite  rightly ; 
but  I  can't  tell  you  about  those  nests  to-day,  nor 
perhaps  to-morrow  :  but  there's  no  contradiction 


CRYSTAL    QUARRELS.  115 

between  my  saying  then,  and  now ;  I  will  show 
you  that  there  is  not,  some  day.  Will  you  trust 
me  meanwhile  ? 

Isabel.  Won't  I ! 

L.  Well,  then,  look,  lastly,  at  this  piece  of 
courtesy  in  quartz ;  it  is  on  a  small  scale,  but 
wonderfully  pretty.  Here  is  nobly  born  quartz 
living  with  a  green  mineral,  called  epidote ;  and 
they  are  immense  friends.  Now,  you  see,  a  com- 
paratively large  and  strong  quartz-crystal,  and  a 
very  weak  and  slender  little  one  of  epidote,  have 
begun  to  grow,  close  by  each  other,  and  sloping 
unluckily  towards  each  other,  so  that  at  last  they 
meet.  They  cannot  go  on  growing  together ;  the 
quartz  crystal  is  five  times  as  thick,  and  more  than 
twenty  times  as  strong,*  as  the  epidote;  but  he 
stops  at  once,  just  in  the  very  crowning  moment 
of  his  life,  when  he  is  building  his  own  summit ! 
He  lets  the  pale  little  film  of  epidote  grow  right 
past  him  ;  stopping  his  own  summit  for  it ;  and 
he  never  himself  grows  any  more. 

Lily  {a/ler  some  silence  of  wonder).  But  is  the 
quartz  never  wicked  then .? 

L,  Yes,  but  the  wickedest  quartz  seems  good- 
natured,  compared  to  other  things.  Here  are  two 
very  characteristic  examples  ;  one  is  good  quartz, 

*  Quartz  is  not  much  harder  than  epidote  ;  the  strength 
is  only  supposed  to  be  in  some  proportion  to  the  squares 
of  the  diameters. 


Il6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

living  with  good  pearlspar,  and  the  other,  wicked 
quartz,  Hving  with  wicked  pearlspar.  In  both,  the 
quartz  yields  to  the  soft  carbonate  of  iron  :  but,  in 
the  first  place,  the  iron  takes  only  what  it  needs 
of  room  ;  and  is  inserted  into  the  planes  of  the 
rock  crystal  with  such  precision,  that  you  must 
break  it  away  before  you  can  tell  whether  it  really 
penetrates  the  quartz  or  not ;  while  the  crystals  of 
iron  are  perfectly  formed,  and  have  a  lovely  bloom 
on  their  surface  besides.  But  here,  when  the  two 
minerals  quarrel,  the  unhappy  quartz  has  all  its 
surfaces  jagged  and  torn  to  pieces  ;  and  there  is 
not  a  single  iron  crystal  whose  shape  you  can 
completely  trace.  But  the  quartz  has  the  worst 
of  it,  in  both  instances. 

Violet.  Might  we  look  at  that  piece  of  broken 
quartz  again,  with  the  weak  little  film  across  it  ? 
it  seems  such  a  strange  lovely  thing,  like  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  a  human  being. 

L.  The  self-sacrifice  of  a  human  being  is  not  a 
lovely  thing,  Violet.  It  is  often  a  necessary  and 
noble  thing  ;  but  no  form  nor  degree  of  suicide 
can  be  ever  lovely. 

Violet.   But  self-sacrifice  is  not  suicide ! 

L.   What  is  it  then  ? 

Violet.   Giving  up  one's  self  for  another. 

L.  Well ;  and  what  do  you  mean  by  '  giving  up 
one's  self  ? 

Violet.   Giving  up  one's  tastes,  one's  feelings. 


CRYSTAL   QUARRELS.  11/ 

one's  time,  one's  happiness,  and  so  on,  to  make 
others  happy. 

L.  I  hope  you  will  never  marry  anybody,  Violet, 
who  expects  you  to  make  him  happy  in  that  way. 

Violet  {hesitating).   In  what  way? 

L.  By  giving  up  your  tastes,  and  sacrificing 
your  feelings,  and  happiness. 

Violet.  No,  no,  I  don't  mean  that ;  but  you 
know,  for  other  people,  one  must. 

L.  For  people  who  don't  love  you,  and  whom 
you  know  nothing  about.?  Be  it  so;  but  how 
does  this  '  giving  up '  differ  from  suicide  then  ? 

Violet.  Why,  giving  up  one's  pleasures  is  not 
killing  one's  self? 

L.  Giving  up  wrong  pleasure  is  not ;  neither  is 
it  self-sacrifice,  but  self-culture.  But  giving  up 
right  pleasure  is.  If  you  surrender  the  pleasure 
of  walking,  your  foot  will  wither  ;  you  may  as  well 
cut  it  off" :  if  you  surrender  the  pleasure  of  seeing, 
your  eyes  will  soon  be  unable  to  bear  the  light ;  • 
you  may  as  well  pluck  them  out.  And  to  maim 
yourself  is  partly  to  kill  yourself  Do  but  go  on 
maiming,  and  you  will  soon  slay. 

Violet.  But  why  do  you  make  me  think  of 
that  verse  then,  about  the  foot  and  the  eye  ? 

L.  You  are  indeed  commanded  to  cut  off"  and 
to  pluck  out,  if  foot  or  eye  offend  you  ;  but  why 
should  they  offend  you  1 


Il8  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Violet.  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  quite  under- 
stood that. 

L.  Yet  it  is  a  sharp  order ;  one  needing  to  be 
well  understood  if  it  is  to  be  well  obeyed  !  When 
Helen  sprained  her  ankle  the  other  day,  you  saw 
how  strongly  it  had  to  be  bandaged ;  that  is  to 
say,  prevented  from  all  work,  to  recover  it.  But 
the  bandage  was  not  '  lovely.' 

Violet.   No,  indeed. 

L.  And  if  her  foot  had  been  crushed,  or  dis- 
eased, or  snake-bitten,  instead  of  sprained,  it 
might  have  been  needful  to  cut  it  off.  But  the 
amputation  would  not  have  been  'lovely.' 

Violet.   No. 

L.  Well,  if  eye  and  foot  are  dead  already,  and 
betray  you, — if  the  light  that  is  in  you  be  dark- 
ness, and  your  feet  run  into  mischief,  or  are  taken 
in  the  snare, — it  is  indeed  time  to  pluck  out,  and 
cut  off,  I  think  :  but,  so  crippled,  you  can  never 
be  what  you  might  have  been  otherwise.  You 
enter  into  life,  at  best,  halt  or  maimed ;  and  the 
sacrifice  is  not  beautiful,  though  necessary. 

Violet  (after  a  pause).  But  when  one  sacri- 
fices one's  self  for  others  ? 

L.   Why  not  rather  others  for  you  ? 

Violet.   Oh  !  but  I  couldn't  bear  that. 

L.   Then  why  should  they  bear  it  ? 

Dora  {bursting  i7i,  indignant).  And  Thermop- 
3'l3e,    and  Protesilaus,    and   Marcus  Curtius,   and 


CRYSTAL    QUARRELS.  1 19 

Arnold  de  Winkelried,  and  Iphigenia,  and  Jeph- 
thah's  daughter? 

L.  {sustaining  the  indignation  unmoved').  And 
the  Samaritan  woman's  son  ? 

Dora.  Which  Samaritan  woman's? 

L.   Read  2  Kings  vi.  29. 

Dora  {obeys).  How  horrid  !  As  if  we  meant 
anything  like  that ! 

L.  You  don't  seem  to  me  to  know  in  the  least 
what  you  do  mean,  children.  What  practical  dif- 
ference is  there  between  'that,'  and  what  you  are 
talking  about  ?  The  Samaritan  children  had  no 
voice  of  their  own  in  the  business,  it  is  true  ;  but 
neither  had  Iphigenia  :  the  Greek  girl  was  certainly 
neither  boiled,  nor  eaten  ;  but  that  only  makes  a 
difference  in  the  dramatic  effect ;  not  in  the  prin- 
ciple. 

Dora  {biting  her  lip).  Well,  then,  tell  us  what 
we  ought  to  mean.  As  if  you  didn't  teach  it  all 
to  us,  and  mean  it  yourself,  at  this  moment,  more 
than  we  do,  if  you  wouldn't  be  tiresome  ! 

L.  I  mean,  and  always  have  meant,  simply  this, 
Dora  ; — that  the  will  of  God  respecting  us  is  that 
we  shall  live  by  each  other's  happiness,  and  life  ; 
not  by  each  other's  misery,  or  death.  I  made 
you  read  that  verse  which  so  shocked  you  just 
now,  because  the  relations  of  parent  and  child  are 
typical  of  all  beautiful  human  help.  A  child  may 
have  to  die  for  its  parents ;  but  the  purpose  of 


120  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Heaven  is  that  it  shall  rather  live  for  them  ; — that, 
not  by  its  sacrifice,  but  by  its  strength,  its  joy,  its 
force  of  being,  it  shall  be  to  them  renewal  of 
strength  ;  and  as  the  arrow  in  the  hand  of  the 
giant.  So  it  is  in  all  other  right  relations.  Men 
help  each  other  by  their  joy,  not  by  their  sorrow. 
They  are  not  intended  to  slay  themselves  for  each 
other,  but  to  strengthen  themselves  for  each  other. 
And  among  the  many  apparently  beautiful  things 
which  turn,  through  mistaken  use,  to  utter  evil,  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  the  thoughtlessly  meek  and 
self-sacrificing  spirit  of  good  men  must  be  named 
as  one  of  the  fatallest.  They  have  so  often  been 
taught  that  there  is  a  virtue  in  mere  suffering,  as 
such  ;  and  foolishly  to  hope  that  good  may  be 
brought  by  Heaven  out  of  all  on  which^Heaven  it- 
self has  set  the  stamp  of  evil,  that  we  may  avoid  it, — 
that  they  accept  pain  and  defeat  as  if  these  were  their 
appointed  portion  ;  never  understanding  that  their 
defeat  is  not  the  less  to  be  mourned  because  it  is 
more  fatal  to  their  enemies  than  to  them.  The 
one  thing  that  a  good  man  has  to  do,  and  to  see 
done,  is  justice  ;  he  is  neither  to  slay  himself  nor 
others  causelessly  :  so  far  from  denying  himself, 
since  he  is  pleased  by  good,  he  is  to  do  his  utmost 
to  get  his  pleasure  accomplished.  And  I  only 
wish  there  were  strength,  fidelity,  and  sense 
enough,  among  the  good  Englishmen  of  this  day, 
to  render  it  possible  for  them  to  band  together  in 


CRYSTAL    QUARRELS.  121 

a  vowed  brotherhood,  to  enforce,  by  strength  of 
heart  and  hand,  thedoingof  human  justice  among 
all  who  came  within  their  sphere.  And  finally, 
for  your  own  teaching,  observe,  although  there 
may  be  need  for  much  self-sacrifice  and  self-denial 
in  the  correction  of  faults  of  character,  the  mo- 
ment the  character  is  formed,  the  self-denial 
ceases.  Nothing  is  really  well  done,  which  it 
costs  you  pain  to  do. 

Violet.  But  surely,  sir,  you  are  always  pleased 
with  us  when  we  try  to  please  others,  and  not  our- 
selves? 

L.  My  dear  child,  in  the  daily  course  and  dis- 
cipline of  right  life,  we  must  continually  and  recipro- 
cally submit  and  surrender  in  all  kind  and  courte- 
ous and  affectionate  ways  :  and  these  submissions 
and  ministries  to  each  other,  of  which  you  all 
know  (none  better)  the  practice  and  the  precious- 
ness,  are  as  good  for  the  yielder  as  the  receiver  : 
they  strengthen  and  perfect  as  much  as  they 
soften  and  refine.  But  the  real  sacrifice  of  all  our 
strength,  or  life,  or  happiness  to  others  (though  it 
may  be  needed,  and  though  all  brave  creatures 
hold  their  lives  in  their  hand,  to  be  given,  when 
such  need  comes,  as  frankly  as  a  soldier  gives  his 
life  in  battle),  is  yet  always  a  mournful  and  mo- 
mentary necessity  ;  not  the  fulfilment  of  the  con- 
tinuous law  of  being.  Self-sacrifice  which  is 
sought  after,  and  triumphed  in,  is  usually  foolish  ; 


122  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

and  calamitous  in  its  issue  :  and  by  tlie  sentimental 
proclamation  and  pursuit  of  it,  good  people  have 
not  only  made  most  of  their  own  lives  useless, 
but  the  whole  framework  of  their  religion  so  hol- 
low,   that   at   this   moment,    while    the    English 
nation,  with  its  lips,  pretends  to  teach  every  man 
to  'love  his  neighbour  as  himself,'  with  its  hands 
and  feet  it  clutches  and  tramples  like  a  wild  beast ; 
and  practically  lives,  every  soul  of  it  that  can,  on 
other  people's  labour.     Briefly,  the  constant  duty 
of  every  man  to  his  fellows  is  to  ascertain  his  own 
powers  and  special  gifts;  and  to  strengthen  them 
for   the   help   of  others.     Do  you   think   Titian 
would  have  helped  the  world  better  by  denying 
himself,  and  not  painting;  or  Casella  by  denying 
himself,  and  not  singing  !     The  real  virtue  is  to 
be  ready  to  sing  the  moment  people  ask  us ;  as  he 
was,  even  in  purgatory.     The  very  word  'virtue' 
means  not  'conduct'  but  'strength,'  vital  energy 
in  the  heart.     Were  not  you  reading  about  that 
group  of  words  beginning  with  V, — vital,  virtu- 
ous, vigorous,   and  so  on, — in  Max  Miiller,   the 
other  day,  Sibyl .-'     Can't  you  tell  the  others  about 
it.? 

Sibyl.   No,  I  can't ;  will  you  tell  us,  please  ? 

L.  Not  now,  it  is  too  late.  Come  to  me  some 
idle  time  to-morrow,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it,  if 
all's  well.  But  the  gist  of  it  is,  children,  that  you 
should  at  least  know  two  Latin  words  ;  recollect 


CRYSTAL   QUARRELS.  1 23 

that  '  mors '  means  death  and  delaying;  and  'vita' 
means  life  and  growing  :  and  try  always,  not  to 
mortify  yourselves,  but  to  vivify  yourselves. 

Violet.  But,  then,  are  we  not  to  mortify  our 
earthly  affections  ?  and  surely  we  are  to  sacrifice 
ourselves,  at  least  in  God's  service,  if  not  in  man's  ? 

L.  Really,  Violet,  we  are  getting  too  serious. 
I've  given  you  enough  ethics  for  one  talk,  I  think  ! 
Do  let  us  have  a  little  play.  Lily,  what  were  you 
so  busy  about,  at  the  ant-hill  in  the  wood,  this 
morning  ? 

Lily.  Oh,  it  was  the  ants  who  were  busy,  not 
I ;  I  was  only  trying  to  help  them  a  little. 

L.  And  they  wouldn't  be  helped,  I  suppose? 

Lily.  No,  indeed.  I  can't  think  why  ants  are 
always  so  tiresome,  when  one  tries  to  help  them  ! 
They  were  carrying  bits  of  stick,  as  fast  as  they 
could,  through  a  piece  of  grass ;  and  pulling  and 
pushing,  so  hard ;  and  tumbling  over  and  over, — 
it  made  one  quite  pity  them ;  so  I  took  some  of 
the  bits  of  stick,  and  carried  them  forward  a  little, 
where  I  thought  they  wanted  to  put  them  ;  but 
instead  of  being  pleased,  they  left  them  directly, 
and  ran  about  looking  quite  angry  and  frightened  ; 
and  at  last  ever  so  many  of  them  got  up  my 
sleeves,  and  bit  me  all  over,  and  I  had  to  come 
away, 

L.  I  couldn't  think  what  you  were  about.  I 
saw  your  French  grammar  lying  on  the  grass  be- 


124  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST.' 

hind  you,  and  thought  perhaps  you  had  gone  to 
ask  the  ants  to  hear  you  a  French  verb. 

Isabel.   Ah  !  but  you  didn't,  though  ! 

L.  Why  not,  Isabel .?  I  knew,  well  enough, 
Lily  couldn't  learn  that  verb  by  herself. 

Isabel.   No  ;  but  the  ants  couldn't  help  her, 

L.  Are  you  sure  the  ants  could  not  have  helped 
you,  Lily  ? 

Lily  {thinking).  I  ought  to  have  learned  some- 
thing from  them,  perhaps. 

L.  But  none  of  them  left  their  sticks  to  help 
you  through  the  irregular  verb  .-' 

Lily.  No,  indeed.  {Laughing,  with  some 
others. ) 

L.  What  are  you  laughing  at,  children  ?  I  can- 
not see  why  the  ants  should  not  have  left  their 
tasks  to  help  Lily  in  her's, — since  here  is  Violet 
thinking  she  ought  to  leave  her  tasks,  to  help  God 
in  His.  Perhaps,  however,  she  takes  Lily's  more 
modest  view,  and  thinks  only  that  *  He  ought  to 
learn  something  from  her.' 

{Tears  in  Violet's  eyes.) 

Dora  {scarlet).  It's  too  bad — it's  a  shame  : — 
poor  Violet ! 

L.  My  dear  childen,  there's  no  reason  why  one 
should  be  so  red,  and  the  other  so  pale,  merely 
because  you  are  made  for  a  moment  to  feel  the 
absurdity  of  a  phrase  which  you  have  been  taught 
to  use,  in  common  with  half  the  religious  world. 


CRYSTAL    QUARRELS.  12^ 

There  is  but  one  way  in  which  man  can  ever  help 
God — that  is,  by  letting  God  help  him  :  and  there 
is  no  way  in  which  his  name  is  more  guiltily  taken 
in  vain,  than  by  calling  the  abandonment  of  our 
own  work,  the  performance  of  His. 

God  is  a  kind  Father.  He  sets  us  all  in  the 
places  where  He  wishes  us  to  be  employed  ;  and 
that  employment  is  truly  '  our  Father's  business.' 
He  chooses  work  for  every  creature  which  will 
be  delightful  to  them,  if  they  do  it  simply  and 
humbly.  He  gives  us  always  strength  enough, 
and  sense  enough,  for  what  He  wants  us  to  do  ; 
if  we  either  tire  ourselves  or  puzzle  ourselves,  it  is 
ourselves,  it  is  our  own  fault.  And  we  may  always 
be  sure,  whatever  we  are  doing,  that  we  cannot  be 
pleasing  Him,  if  we  are  not  happy  ourselves. 
Now,  away  with  you,  children  ;  and  be  as  happy 
as  you  can.  And  when  you  cannot,  at  least  don't 
plume  yourselves  upon  pouting. 


Cectttre  7. 
HOME    VIRTUES. 


LECTURE  VII. 


HOME     VIRTUES. 


By  the  fireside,  in  the  Drawing-room.     Evening. 

Dora.  Now,  the  curtains  are  drawn,  and  the 
fire's  bright,  and  here's  your  armchair — and  you're 
to  tell  us  all  about  what  you  promised. 

L.  All  about  what? 

Dora.   All  about  virtue. 

Kathleen.  Yes,  and  about  the  words  that  be- 
gin with  V. 

L.  I  heard  you  singing  about  a  word  that  be- 
gins with  V,  in  the  playground,  this  morning, 
Miss  Katie. 

Kathleen.   Me  singing ! 

May.   Oh  tell  us — tell  us. 

L.    '  Vilikens  and  his ' 

Kathleen  {stopping  his  mouthy.  Oh !  please 
don't.     Where  were  you  ? 

Isabel.  I'm  sure  I  wish  I  had  known  where  he 
was  !  We  lost  him  among  the  rhododendrons, 
and  I  don't  know  where  he  got  to ;  oh,  you 
naughty — naughty — {climbs  on  his  knee). 

129 


130  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Dora.   Now,  Isabel,  we  really  want  to  talk. 

L.  /don't. 

Dora.  Oh,  but  you  must.  You  promised,  you 
know. 

L.  Yes,  if  all  was  well ;  but  all's  ill.  I'm  tired 
and  cross  ;  and  I  won't. 

Dora.  You're  not  a  bit  tired,  and  you're  not 
Grosser  than  two  sticks ;  and  we'll  make  you  talk, 
if  you  were  crosser  than  six.  Come  here,  Egypt ; 
and  get  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

(Egypt  takes  up  a  commanding  position  near  the 
hearth  brush. ) 

Dora  {reviewing  her  forces).    Now,  Lily,  come 
and  sit  on  the  rug  in  front. 
(Lily  does  as  she  is  bid. ) 

L.  {seeing  he  has  no  chance  against  the  odds.) 
Well,  well ;  but  I'm  really  tired.  Go  and  dance  a 
little,  first ;  and  let  me  think. 

Dora.  No  ;  you  mustn't  think.  You  will  be 
wanting  to  make  us  think  next ;  that  will  be  tire- 
some. 

L.  Well,  go  and  dance  first,  to  get  quit  of  think- 
ing :  and  then  I'll  talk  as  long  as  you  like. 

Dora.  Oh,  but  we  can't  dance  to-night.  There 
isn't  time  ;  and  we  want  to  hear  about  virtue. 

L.  Let  me  see  a  little  of  it  first  Dancing  is  the 
first  of  girls'  virtues. 

Egypt.   Indeed  !  And  the  second  ? 

L.   Dressing. 


HOME    VII^TUES.  I3I 

Egypt.  Now,  you  needn't  say  that !  I  mended 
that  tear  the  first  thing  before  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing. 

L.  I  cannot  otherwise  express  the  ethical  prin- 
ciple, Egypt ;  whether  you  have  mended  your 
gown  or  not. 

Dora.  Now  don't  be  tiresome.  We  really  must 
hear  about  virtue,  please  ;  seriously. 

L.  Well.  I'm  telling  you  about  it,  as  fast  as  I 
can. 

Dora.  What !  the  first  of  girls'  virtues  is  dan- 
cing? 

L.  More  accurately,  it  is  wishing  to  dance,  and 
not  wishing  to  tease,  nor  hear  about  virtue. 

Dora  (to  Egypt).   Isn't  he  cross? 

Egypt.  How  many  balls  must  we  go  to  in  the 
season,  to  be  perfectly  virtuous  ? 

L.  As  many  as  you  can  without  losing  your 
color.  But  I  did  not  say  you  should  wish  to  go 
to  balls.  I  said  you  should  be  always  wanting  to 
dance. 

Egypt.  So  we  do ;  but  everybody  says  it  is  very 
wrong. 

L.     Why,  Egypt,  I  thought — 

'  There  was  a  lady  once, 
That  would  not  be  a  queen, — that  would  she  not, 
For  all  the  mud  in  Egypt.' 

You  were  complaining  the  other  day  of  having  to 

go  out  a  great  deal  oftener  than  you  liked. 


132  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Egypt.  Yes,  so  I  was ;  but  then,  it  isn't  to 
dance.  There's  no  room  to  dance  :  it's — {Pausing 
to  consider  what  it  is  for). 

L.  It  is  only  to  be  seen,  I  suppose.  Well, 
there's  no  harm  in  that.  Girls  ought  to  like  to  be 
seen. 

Dora  (her  eyes  flashing).  Now,  you  don't  mean 
that ;  and  your  too  provoking ;  and  we  won't 
dance  again,  for  a  month. 

L.  It  will  answer  every  purpose  of  revenge, 
Dora,  if  you  only  banish  me  to  the  library ;  and 
dance  by  yourselves  ;  but  I  don't  think  Jessie  and 
Lily  will  agree  to  that.  You  like  me  to  see  you 
dancing,  don't  you,  Lily  ? 

Lily.   Yes,  certainly, — when  we  do  it  rightly. 

L.  And  besides,  Miss  Dora,  if  young  ladies 
really  do  not  want  to  be  seen,  they  should  take 
care  not  to  let  their  eyes  flash  when  they  dislike 
what  people  say  :  and,  more  than  that,  it  is  all 
nonsense  from  beginning  to  end,  about  not  want- 
ing to  be  seen.  I  don't  know  any  more  tiresome 
flower  in  the  borders  than  your  especially  '  modest ' 
snowdrop  ;  which  one  always  has  to  stoop  down 
and  take  all  sorts  of  tiresome  trouble  with,  and 
nearly  break  its  poor  little  head  off",  before  you 
can  see  it ;  and  then,  half  of  it  is  not  worth  see- 
ing. Girls  should  be  like  daisies  ;  nice  and  white, 
with  an  edge  of  red,  if  you  look  close ;  making 
the  ground  bright  wherever   they  are ;    knowing 


HOME    VIRTUES.  133 

simply  and  quietly  that  they  do  it,  and  are  meant 
to  do  it,  and  that  it  would  be  very  wrong  if  they 
didn't  do  it.  Not  want  to  be  seen,  indeed  I  How 
long  were  you  in  doing  up  your  back  hair,  this 
afternoon,  Jessie? 

(Jessie  not  immediately  answering,  Dora  comes 
to  her  assistance. ) 
Dora.   Not  above  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  I 
think,  Jess? 

Jessie  {putting  her  finger  up).  Now,  Dorothy, 
you  needn't  talk,  you  know  ! 

L.  I  know  she  needn't,  Jessie ;  I  shall  ask  her 
about  those  dark  plaits  presently,  (Dora  looks 
round  to  see  if  there  is  any  way  open  for  retreat. ) 
But  never  mind  ;  it  was  worth  the  time,  whatever 
it  was ;  and  nobody  will  ever  mistake  that  golden 
wreath  for  a  chignon  :  but  if  you  don't  want  it  to 
be  seen  you  had  better  wear  a  cap. 

Jessie.  Ah,  now,  are  you  really  going  to  do 
nothing  but  play  ?  And  we  all  have  been  think- 
ing, and  thinking,  all  day  ;  and  hoping  you  would 
tell  us  things  ;  and  now — ! 

L.  And  now  I  am  telling  you  things,  and  true 
things,  and  things  good  for  you  ;  and  you  won't 
believe  me.  You  might  as  well  have  let  me  go  to 
sleep  at  once,  as  I  wanted  to.  {Endeavours  again 
to  make  himself  comfortable. ) 

Isabel,  Oh,  no,  no,  you  sha'n't  go  to  sleep,  you 
naughty ! — Kathleen,  come  here. 


134  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

L.  {knowing  what  he  has  to  expect  if  Kathleen 
comes. )  Get  away,  Isabel,  you're  too  heavy.  {Sit- 
ting up. )     What  have  I  been  saying  ? 

Dora.  I  do  believe  he  has  been  asleep  all  the 
time  !  You  never  heard  anything  like  the  things 
you've  been  saying. 

L.  Perhaps  not.  If  you  have  heard  them,  and 
anything  like  them,  it  is  all  I  want. 

Egypt.  Yes,  but  we  don't  understand,  and  you 
know  we  don't ;  and  we  want  to. 

L.  What  did  I  say  first  ? 

Dora.  That  the  first  virtue  of  girls  was  wanting 
to  go  to  balls. 

L.   I  said  nothing  of  the  kind. 

Jessie.    'Always  wanting  to  dance,'  you  said. 

L.  Yes,  and  that's  true.  Their  first  virtue  is  to 
be  intensely  happy ; — so  happy  that  they  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  themselves  for  happiness, 
— and  dance,  instead  of  walking.  Don't  you 
recollect  'Louisa,' 

'  No  fountain  from  a  rocky  cave 

E'er  tripped  with  foot  so  free  ; 
She  seemed  as  happy  as  a  wave 
That  dances  on  the  sea.' 

A  girl  is  always  like  that,  when  everything's  right 
with  her. 

Violet.  But,  surely,  one  must  be  sad  some- 
times .'' 

L.   Yes,  Violet ;  and  dull  sometimes,  and  stupid 


HOME    VIRTUES.  1 35 

sometimes,  and  cross  sometimes.  What  must  be, 
must ;  but  it  is  always  either  our  own  fault,  or 
somebody  else's.  The  last  and  worst  thing  that 
can  be  said  of  a  nation  is,  that  it  has  made  its 
young  girls  sad,  and  weary. 

May.  But  I  am  sure  I  have  heard  a  great  many 
good  people  speak  against  dancing .? 

L.  Yes,  May  ;  but  it  does  not  follow  they  were 
wise  as  well  as  good.  I  suppose  they  think  Jere- 
miah liked  better  to  have  to  write  Lamentations 
for  his  people,  than  to  have  to  write  that  promise 
for  them,  which  everybody  seems  to  hurry  past, 
that  they  may  get  on  quickly  to  the  verse  about 
Rachel  weeping  for  her  children  ;  though  the  verse 
they  pass  is  the  counter  blessing  to  that  one  : 
*  Then  shall  the  virgin  rejoice  in  the  dance  ;  and 
both  young  men  and  old  together ;  and  I  will 
turn  their  mourning  into  joy.' 

(The  children  get  very  serious,  but  look  at  each 
other,  as  if  pleased. ) 

Mary.  They  understand  now  :  but,  do  you 
know  what  you  said  next .? 

L.  Yes ;  I  was  not  more  than  half  asleep.  I 
said  their  second  virtue  was  dressing. 

Mary.   Well  !  what  did  you  mean  by  that  ? 

L.   What  do  you  mean  by  dressing? 

Mary.  Wearing  fine  clothes. 

L.  Ah  !  there's  the  mistake.  /  mean  wearing 
plain  ones. 


136  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Mary.  Yes,  I  daresay  !  but  that's  not  what 
girls  understand  by  dressing,  you  know. 
•  Ia  I  can't  help  that.  If  they  understand  by 
dressing,  buying  dresses,  perhaps  they  also  under- 
stand by  drawing,  buying  pictures.  But  when  I 
hear  them  say  they  can  draw,  I  understand  that 
they  can  make  a  drawing  ;  and  when  I  hear  them 
say  they  can  dress,  I  understand  that  they  can 
make  a  dress  and — which  is  quite  as  difficult — 
wear  one. 

Dora.  I'm  not  sure  about  the  making ;  for  the 
wearing,  we  can  all  wear  them — out,  before  any- 
body expects  it. 

Egypt  {aside,  to  1^.,  pileously).  Indeed  I  have 
mended  that  torn  flounce  quite  neatly ;  look  if  I 
haven't  1 

L.  {aside,  to  Egypt).  All  right ;  don't  be  afraid. 
{Aloud  to  Dora.  )  Yes,  doubtless  ;  but  you  know 
that  is  only  a  slow  way  of  w«dressing. 

Dora.  Then,  we  are  all  to  learn  dress-making, 
are  we? 

L.  Yes ;  and  always  to  dress  yourselves  beauti- 
fully— not  finely,  unless  on  occasion;  but  then 
very  finely  and  beautifully,  too.  Also,  you  are 
to  diess  as  many  other  people  as  you  can  ;  and 
to  teach  them  how  to  dress,  if  they  don't  know  ; 
and  to  consider  every  ill-dressed  woman  or  child 
waon>  you  see  anywhere,  as  a  personal  disgrace ; 


HOME    VIRTUES.  137 

and  to  get  at  them,  somehow,  until  everybody  is 
as  beautifully  dressed  as  birds. 

{Silence;  the  children  drawing  their  breaths 
hard,  as  if  they  had  come  from  under  a 
shower  bath. ) 

L.  {seeing  objections  begin  to  express  themselves 
in  the  eyes. )  Now  you  needn't  say  you  can't ;  for 
you  can  and  it's  what  you  were  meant  to  do, 
always ;  and  to  dress  your  houses,  and  your  gar- 
dens, too  ;  and  to  do  very  little  else,  I  believe,  ex- 
cept singing ;  and  dancing,  as  we  said,  of  course 
and — one  thing  more. 

Dora.   Our  third  and  last  virtue,  I  suppose } 

L.   Yes  ;  on  Violet's  system  of  triplicities. 

Dora.  Well,  we  are  prepared  for  anything  now. 
What  is  it  ? 

L.   Cooking. 

Dora.  Cardinal,  indeed  !  If  only  Beatrice  were 
here  with  her  seven  handmaids,  that  she  might  see 
what  a  fine  eighth  we  had  found  for  her  ! 

Mary.  And  the  interpretation  ?  What  does 
*  cooking '  mean  ? 

L.  It  means  the  knowledge  of  Medea,  and  of 
Circe,  and  of  Calypso,  and  of  Helen,  and  of 
Rebekah,  and  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  It  means 
the  knowledge  of  all  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  balms, 
and  spices  ;  and  of  all  that  is  healing  and  sweet  in 
fields  ank  groves,  and  savoury  in  meats  ;  it  means 
carefulness,  and  inventiveness,  and  watchfulness. 


138  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

and  willingness,  and  readiness  of  appliance ;  it 
means  the  economy  of  your  great-grandmothers, 
and  the  science  of  modern  chemists ;  it  means 
much  tasting,  and  no  wasting  ;  it  means  English 
thoroughness,  and  French  art,  and  Arabian  hospi- 
tality ;  and  it  means,  in  fine,  that  you  are  to  be 
perfectly  and  always,  '  ladies ' — '  loaf-givers ;"  and, 
as  you  are  to  see,  imperatively,  that  everybody  has 
something  pretty  to  put  on, — sp  you  are  to  see,  yet 
more  imperatively,  that  everybody  has  something 
nice  to  eat. 

{Another  pause,  and  long  drawn  breath.^ 

Dora  {slowly  recovering  herselj )  to  Egypt.  We 
had  better  have  let  him  go  to  sleep,  I  think,  after 
all! 

L.  You  had  better  let  the  younger  ones  go  to 
sleep  now  :  for  I  haven't  half  done. 

Isabel,  {panic-struck).  Oh !  please,  please ! 
just  one  quarter  of  an  hour. 

L.  No,  Isabel  ;  I  cannot  say  what  I've  got  to 
say,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  and  it  is  too  hard  for 
you,  besides  : — you  would  be  lying  awake,  and 
trying  to  make  it  out,  half  the  night.  That  will 
never  do. 

Isabel.   Oh,  please  ! 

L.  It  would  please  me  exceedingly,  mousie  : 
but  there  are  times  when  we  must  both  be  dis- 
pleased ;  more's  the  pity.  Lily  may  stay  for  half 
an  hour,  if  she  likes. 


HOME    VIRTUES.  1 39 

Lily.  I  can't,  because  Isey  never  goes  to  sleep, 
if  she  is  waiting  for  me  to  come. 

Isabel.  Oh,  yes,  Lily  ;  I'll  go  to  sleep  to-night, 
I  will,  indeed. 

Lily.  Yes,  it's  very  likely,  Isey,  with  those  fine 
round  eyes  !  {To  L.)  You'll  tell  me  something 
of  what  you've  been  saying,  to-morrow,  won't 
you? 

L.  No,  I  won't,  Lily,  You  must  choose.  It's 
only  in  Miss  Edgeworth's  novels  that  one  can  do 
right,  and  have  one's  cake  and  sugar  afterwards, 
as  well  (not  that  I  consider  the  dilemma,  to-night, 
so  grave). 

(Lily,  sighing,  takes  Isabel's  hand.) 

Yes,  Lily  dear,  it  will  be  better,  in  the  outcome 
of  it,  so,  than  if  you  were  to  hear  all  the  talks  that 
ever  were  talked,  and  all  the  stories  that  ever  were 
told.     Good  night. 

{The  door  leading  to  the  condemned  cells  of  the 
Dormitory  closes  on  Lily,  Isabel,  Florrie, 
and  other  diminutive  and  submissive  victims.) 

Jessie  {after  a  pause).  Why,  I  thought  you 
were  so  fond  of  Miss  Edgeworth  ! 

L.  So  I  am  ;  and  so  you  ought  all  to  be.  I  can 
read  her  over  and  over  again,  without  ever  tiring; 
there's  no  one  whose  every  page  is  so  full,  and  so 
delightful ;  no  one  who  brings  you  into  the  com- 
pany of  pleasanter  or  wiser  people  ;  no  one  who 
tells  you  more  truly  how  to  do  right.     And  it  is 


I40  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

very  nice,  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  world,  to  have 
the  very  ideal  of  poetical  justice  done  always  to 
one's  hand  : — to  have  everybody  found  out,  who 
tells  lies  ;  and  everybody  decorated  with  a  red 
riband,  who  doesn't ;  and  to  see  the  good  Laura, 
who  gave  away  her  half  sovereign,  receiving  a  grand 
ovation  from  an  entire  dinner  party  disturbed  for 
the  purpose  ;  and  poor,  dear,  little  Rosamond, 
who  chooses  purple  jars  instead  of  new  shoes,  left 
at  last  without  either  her  shoes  or  her  bottle.  But 
it  isn't  life  :  and,  in  the  way  children  might  easily 
understand  it,  it  isn't  morals. 

Jessie.  How  do  you  mean  we  might  under- 
stand it? 

L.  You  might  think  Miss  Edgeworth  meant 
that  the  right  was  to  be  done  mainly  because 
one  was  always  rewarded  for  doing  it.  It  is  an 
injustice  to  her  to  say  that :  her  heroines  al- 
ways do  right  simply  for  its  own  sake,  as  they 
should  ;  and  her  examples  of  conduct  and  motive 
are  wholly  admirable.  But  her  representation  of 
events  is  false  and  misleading.  Her  good  char- 
acters never  are  brought  into  the  deadly  trial  of 
goodness, — the  doing  right,  and  suffering  for  it, 
quite  finally.  And  that  is  life,  as  God  arranges  it 
'Taking  up  one's  cross'  does  not  at  all  mean 
having  ovations  at  dinner  parties,  and  being  put 
over  everybody  else's  head. 

Dora.   But  what   does  it  mean  then  ?     That  is 


HOME    VIRTUES.  I4I 

just  what  we  couldn't  understand,  when  you  were 
telling  us  about  not  sacrificing  ourselves,  yester- 
day. 

L.  My  dear,  it  means  simply  that  you  are  to  ga 
the  road  which  you  see  to  be  the  straight  one  ; 
carrying  whatever  you  find  is  given  you  to  carry, 
as  well  and  stoutly  as  you  can  ;  without  making 
faces,  or  calling  people  to  come  and  look  at  you. 
Above  all,  you  are  neither  to  load,  nor  unload, 
yourself ;  nor  cut  your  cross  to  your  own  liking. 
Some  people  think  it  would  be  better  for  them  to 
have  it  large  ;  and  many,  that  they  could  carry  it 
much  faster  if  it  were  small  ;  and  even  those  who 
like  it  largest  are  usually  very  particular  about  its 
being  ornamental,  andmade  of  the  best  ebony. 
But  all  that  you  have  really  to  do  is  to  keep  your 
back  as  straight  as  you  can  ;  and  not  think  about 
what  is  upon  it — above  all,  not  to  boast  of  what 
is  upon  it.  The  real  and  essential  meaning  of 
'  virtue '  is  in  that  straightness  of  back.  Yes ;  you 
may  laugh,  children,  but  it  is.  You  know  I  was 
to  tell  you  about  the  words  that  began  with  V. 
Sibyl,  what  does  '  virtue  '  mean  literally  ? 

Sibyl.   Does  it  mean  courage  ? 

L.  Yes  ;  but  a  particular  kind  of  courage.  It 
means  courage  of  the  nerve  ;  vital  courage.  That 
first  syllable  of  it,  if  you  look  in  Max  Miiller,  you 
will  find  really  means  'nerve,' and  from  it  come 
'vis,'  and  'vir,'  and  'virgin'  (through  vireo),  and 


142  THE   ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

the  connected  word  'virga' — 'a  rod;' — the  green 
rod.  or  springing  bough  of  a  tree,  being  the  type 
of  perfect  human  strength,  both  in  the  use  of  it 
in  the  Mosaic  story,  when  it  becomes  a  serpent, 
or  strikes  the  rock ;  or  when  Aaron's  bears  its 
almonds;  and  in  the  metaphorical  expressions, 
the  'Rod  out  of  the  stem  of  Jesse,'  and  the  'Man 
whose  name  is  the  Branch,'  and  so  on.  And  the 
essential  idea  of  real  virtue  is  that  of  a  vital  human 
strength,  which  instinctively,  constantly,  and  with- 
out motive,  does  what  is  right.  You  must  train 
men  to  this  by  habit,  as  you  would  the  branch  of 
a  tree ;  and  give  them  instincts  and  manners  (or 
morals)  of  purity,  justice,  kindness,  and  courage. 
Once  rightly  trained,  they  act  as  they  should,  ir- 
respectively of  all  motive,  of  fear,  or  of  reward. 
It  is  the  blackest  sign  of  putrescence  in  a  national 
religion,  when  men  speak  as  if  it  were  the  only 
safeguard  of  conduct ;  and  assume  that,  but  for 
the  fear  of  being  burned,  or  for  the  hope  of  being 
rewarded,  everj'body  would  pass  their  lives  in  ly- 
ing, stealing,  and  murdering.  I  think  quite  one 
of  the  notablest  historical  events  of  this  century 
(perhaps  the  very  notablest),  was  that  council  of 
clergymen,  horror-struck  at  the  idea  of  any  dimi- 
nution in  our  dread  of  hell,  at  which  the  last  of 
English  clergymen  whom  one  would  have  ex- 
pected to  see  in  such  a  function,  rose  as  the  devil's 


HOME    VIRTUES.  143 

advocate ;  to  tell   us  how   impossible  it  was  we 
could  get  on  without  him. 

Violet  (after  a  pause).  But,  surely,  if  people 
weren't  afraid — {hesitates  again). 

L.  They  should  be  afraid  of  doing  wrong,  and 
of  that  only,  my  dear.  Otherwise,  if  they  only 
don't  do  wrong  for  fear  of  being  punished,  they 
have  done  wrong  in  their  hearts  already. 

Violet.  Well,  but  surely,  at  least  one  ought  to 
be  afraid  of  displeasing  God  ;  and  one's  desire  to 
please  Him  should  be  one's  first  motive? 

L.  He  never  would  be  pleased  with  us,  if  it 
were,  my  dear.  When  a  father  sends  his  son  out 
into  the  world — suppose  as  an  apprentice — fancy 
the  boy's  coming  home  at  night,  and  saying, 
'  Father,  I  could  have  robbed  the  till  to-day ;  but 
I  didn't,  because  I  thought  you  wouldn't  like  it.' 
Do  you  think  the  father  would  be  particularly 
pleased  ? 

(Violet  is  silent. ) 

He  would  answer,  would  he  not,  if  he  were 
wise  and  good,  '  My  boy,  though  you  had  no 
father,  you  must  not  rob  tills '  ?  And  nothing  is 
ever  done  so  as  really  to  please  our  Great  Father, 
unless  we  would  also  have  done  it,  though  we 
had  had  no  Father  to  know  of  it. 

Violet  {after  long  pause).  But,  then,  what 
continual  threatenings,  and  promises  of  reward 
there  are  ! 


144  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

L.  And  how  vain  both  !  with  the  Jews,  and 
with  all  of  us.  But  the  fact  is,  that  the  threat  and 
promise  are  simply  statements  of  the  Divine  law, 
and  of  its  consequences.  The  fact  is  truly  told 
you, — make  what  use  you  may  of  it :  and  as  col- 
lateral warning,  or  encouragement,  or  comfort, 
the  knowledge  of  future  consequences  may  often 
be  helpful  to  us ;  but  helpful  chiefly  to  the  better 
state  when  we  can  act  without  reference  to  them. 
And  there's  no  measuring  the  poisoned  influence 
of  that  notion  of  future  reward  on  the  mind  of 
Christian  Europe,  in  the  early  ages.  Half  the 
monastic  system  rose  out  of  that,  acting  on  the 
occult  pride  and  ambition  of  good  people  (as  the 
other  half  of  it  came  of  their  follies  and  misfor- 
tunes). There  is  always  a  considerable  quantity 
of  pride,  to  begin  with,  in  what  is  called  'giving 
one's  self  to  God. '  As  if  one  had  ever  belonged 
to  anybody  else  ! 

Dora.  But,  surely,  great  good  has  come  out  of 
the  monastic  system — our  books, — our  sciences — 
all  saved  by  the  monks  ? 

L.  Saved  from  what,  my  dear?  From  the 
abyss  of  misery  and  ruin  which  that  false  Chris- 
tianity allowed  the  whole  active  world  to  live  in. 
When  it  had  become  the  principal  amusement, 
and  the  most  admired  art,  of  Christian  men,  to 
cut  one  another's  throats,  and  burn  one  another's 
towns ;  of  course   the    few  feeble   or  reasonable 


HOME    VIRTUES,  1 45 

persons  left,  who  desired  quiet,  safety,  and  kind 
fellowship,  got  into  cloisters  ;  and  the  gentlest, 
thoughtfuUest,  noblest  men  and  women  shut 
themselves  up,  precisely  where  they  could  be  of 
least  use.  They  are  very  fine  things,  for  us  paint- 
ers, now, — the  towers  and  white  arches  upon  the 
tops  of  the  rocks  ;  always  in  places  where  it  takes 
a  day's  climbing  to  get  at  them  ;  but  the  intense 
tragi-comedy  of  the  thing,  when  one  thinks  of  it, 
is  unspeakable.  All  the  good  people  of  the  world 
getting  themselves  hung  up  out  of  the  way  of 
mischief,  like  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie ; — poor  little 
lambs,  as  it  were,  dangling  there  for  the  sign  of 
the  Golden  Fleece  ;  or  like  Socrates  in  his  basket 
in  the  *  Clouds '  1  (I  must  read  you  that  bit  of 
Aristophanes  again,  by  the  way. )  And  believe  me, 
children,  I  am  no  warped  witness,  as  far  as  re- 
gards monasteries  ;  or  if  I  am,  it  is  in  their  favour. 
I  have  always  had  a  strong  leaning  that  way  ;  and 
have  pensively  shivered  with  Augustines  at  St. 
Bernard  ;  and  happily  made  hay  with  Franciscans 
at  Fesole ;  and  sat  silent  with  Carthusians  in  their 
little  gardens,  south  of  Florence  ;  and  mourned 
through  many  a  day-dream,  at  Melrose  and  Bol- 
ton, But  the  wonder  is  always  to  me,  not  how 
much,  but  how  little,  the  monks  have,  on  the 
whole,  done,  with  all  that  leisure,  and  all  that 
good-will  !  What  nonsense  monks  characteristic- 
ally wrote ; — what  little  progress  they  made  in  the 


146  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

sciences  to  which  they  devoted  themselves  as  a 
duty, — medicine  especially; — and,  last  and  worst, 
what  depths  of  degradation  they  can  sometimes 
see  one  another,  and  the  population  round  them, 
sink  into  ;  without  either  doubting  their  system, 
or  reforming  it ! 

{Seeing  questions  rising  to  lips.)  Hold  your 
little  tongues,  children  ;  it's  very  late,  and  you'll 
make  me  forget  what  I've  to  say.  Fancy  your- 
selves in  pews,  for  five  minutes.  There's  one 
point  of  possible  good  in  the  conventual  system, 
which  is  always  attractive  to  young  girls  ;  and  the 
idea  is  a  very  dangerous  one  ; — the  notion  of  a 
merit,  or  exalting  virtue,  consisting  in  a  habit  of 
meditation  on  the  *  things  above,'  or  things  of  the 
next  world.  Now  it  is  quite  true,  that  a  person 
of  beautiful  mind,  dwelling  on  whatever  appears 
to  them  most  desirable  and  lovely  in  a  possible 
future,  will  not  only  pass  their  time 'pleasantly,  but 
will  even  acquire,  at  last,  a  vague  and  wildly  gen- 
tle charm  of  manner  and  feature,  which  will  give 
them  an  air  of  peculiar  sanctity  in  the  eyes  of 
others.  Whatever  real  or  apparent  good  there 
may  be  in  this  result,  I  want  you  to  observe,  chil- 
dren, that  we  have  no  real  authority  for  the  reve- 
ries to  which  it  is  owing.  We  are  told  nothing 
distinctly  of  the  heavenly  world ;  except  that  it 
will  be  free  from  sorrow,  and  pure  from  sin. 
What  is  said  of  pearl  gates,  golden  floors,  and  the 


HOME    VIRTUES.  147 

like,  is  accepted  as  merely  figurative  by  religious 
enthusiasts  themselves  ;  and  whatever  they  pass 
their  time  in  conceiving,  whether  of  the  happiness 
of  risen  souls,  of  their  intercourse,  or  of  the  ap- 
pearance and  employment  of  the  heavenly  powers, 
is  entirely  the  product  of  their  own  imagination  ; 
and  as  completely  and  distinctly  a  work  of  fiction, 
or  romantic  invention,  as  any  novel  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's.  That  the  romance  is  founded  on  religious 
theory  or  doctrine  ; — that  no  disagreeable  or 
wicked  persons  are  admitted  into  the  story  ; — and 
that  the  inventor  fervently  hopes  that  some  portion 
of  it  may  hereafter  come  true,  does  not  in  the  least 
alter  the  real  nature  of  the  effort  or  enjoyment. 

Now,  whatever  indulgence  may  be  granted  to 
amiable  people  for  pleasing  themselves  in  this  in- 
nocent way,  it  is  beyond  question,  that  to  seclude 
themselves  from  the  rough  duties  of  life,  merely 
to  write  religious  romances,  or,  as  in  most  cases, 
merely  to  dream  them,  without  taking  so  much 
trouble  as  is  implied  in  writing,  ought  not  to  be 
received  as  an  act  of  heroic  virtue.  But,  observe, 
even  in  admitting  thus  much,  I  have  assumed 
that  the  fancies  are  just  and  beautiful,  though  fic- 
titious. Now,  what  right  have  any  of  us  to  as- 
sume that  our  own  fancies  will  assuredly  be  either 
the  one  or  the  other  ?  That  they  delight  us,  and 
appear  lovely  to  us,  is  no  real  proof  of  its  not  be- 
ing wasted  time  to  form  them:   and  we  may  surely 


148  THE  ETHICS   OF    THE   DUST, 

be  led  somewhat  to  distrust  our  judgment  of  them 
by  observing  what  ignoble  imaginations  have 
sometimes  sufficiently,  or  even  enthusiastically, 
occupied  the  hearts  of  others.  The  principal 
source  of  the  spirit  of  religious  contemplation  is 
the  East ;  now  I  have  here  in  my  hand  a  Byzan- 
tine image  of  Christ,  which,  if  you  will  look  at  it 
seriously,  may,  I  think,  at  once  and  forever  render 
you  cautious  in  the  indulgence  of  a  merely  con- 
templative habit  of  mind.  Observe,  it  is  the  fash- 
ion to  look  at  such  a  thing  only  as  a  piece  of  bar- 
barous art  ;  that  is  the  smallest  part  of  its  interest. 
What  I  want  you  to  see,  is  the  baseness  and  false- 
ness of  a  religious  state  of  enthusiasm,  in  which 
such  a  work  could  be  dwelt  upon  with  pious 
pleasure.  That  a  figure,  with  two  small  round 
black  beads  for  eyes  ;  a  gilded  face,  deep  cut  into 
horrible  wrinkles  ;  an  open  gash  for  a  mouth,  and 
a  distorted  skeleton  for  a  body,  wrapped  about,  to 
make  it  fine,  with  striped  enamel  of  blue  and 
gold  ; — that  such  a  figure,  I  say,  should  ever  have 
been  thought  helpful  towards  the  conception  of  a 
Redeeming  Deity,  may  make  you,  I  think,  very 
doubtful,  even  of  the  Divine  approval, — much 
more  of  the  Divine  inspiration, — of  religious  rev- 
erie in  general.  You  feel,  doubtless,  that  your 
own  idea  of  Christ  would  be  something  very  dif- 
ferent from  this ;  but  in  what  does  the  difference 
consist?     Not   in   any  more   divine  authority  in 


HOME    VIRTUES  149 

your  imagination  ;  but  in  the  intellectual  work  of 
six  intervening  centuries  ;  which,  simply,  by  art- 
istic discipline,  has  refined  this  crude  conception 
for  you,  and  filled  you,  partly  with  an  innate  sen- 
sation, partly  with  an  acquired  knowledge,  of 
higher  forms, — which  render  this  Byzantine  cruci- 
fix as  horrible  to  you,  as  it  was  pleasing  to  its 
maker.  More  is  required  to  excite  your  fancy  ; 
but  your  fancy  is  of  no  more  authority  than  his 
was  :  and  a  point  of  national  art-skill  is  quite  con- 
ceivable, in  which  the  best  we  can  do  now  will  be 
as  offensive  to  the  religious  dreamers  of  the  more 
highly  cultivated  time,  as  this  Byzantine  crucifix 
is  to  you. 

Mary.  But  surely,  Angelico  will  always  retain 
his  power  over  everybody  ? 

L.  Yes,  I  should  think,  always  ;  as  the  gentle 
words  of  a  child  will  :  but  you  would  be  much 
surprised,  Mary,  if  you  thoroughly  took  the  pains 
to  analyse,  and  had  the  perfect  means  of  analys- 
ing, that  power  of  Angelico, — to  discover  its  real 
sources.  Of  course  it  is  natural,  at  first,  to  attri- 
bute it  to  the  pure  religious  fervor  by  which  he 
was  inspired  ;  but  do  you  suppose  Angelico  was 
really  the  only  monk,  in  all  the  Christian  world  of 
the  middle  ages,  who  laboured,  in  art,  with  a  sin- 
cere religious  enthusiasm  ? 

Mary.    No,  certainly  not. 

L.  Anything  more  frightful,   more   destructive 


ISO  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

of  all  religious  faith  whatever,  than  such  a  suppo- 
sition, could  not  be.  And  yet,  what  other  monk 
ever  produced  such  work  ?  I  have  myself  exam- 
ined carefully  upwards  of  two  thousand  illumi- 
nated missals,  with  especial  view  to  the  discovery 
of  any  evidence  of  a  similar  result  upon  the  art, 
from  the  monkish  devotion  ;    and  utterly  in  vain. 

Mary.  But  then,  was  not  Fra  Angelico  a  man 
of  entirely  separate  and  exalted  genius  ? 

L.  Unquestionably  ;  and  granting  him  to  be 
that,  the  peculiar  phenomenon  in  his  art  is,  to 
me,  not  its  loveliness,  but  its  weakness.  The  ef- 
fect of  'inspiration,'  had  it  been  real,  on  a  man  of 
consummate  genius,  should  have  been,  one 
would  have  thought,  to  make  everything  that  he 
did  faultless  and  strong,  no  less  than  lovely.  But 
of  all  men,  deserving  to  be  called  'great,'  Fra 
Angelico  permits  to  himself  the  least  pardonable 
faults,  and  the  most  palpable  follies.  There  is 
evidently  within  him  a  sense  of  grace,  and  power 
of  invention,  as  great  as  Ghiberti's  : — we  are  in 
the  habit  of  attributing  those  high  qualities  to  his 
religious  enthusiasm  ;  but,  if  they  were  produced 
by  that  enthusiasm  in  him,  they  ought  to  be  pro- 
duced by  the  same  feelings  in  others  ;  and  we  see 
they  are  not.  Whereas,  comparing  him  with  con- 
temporary great  artists,  of  equal  grace  and  inven- 
tion, one  peculiar  character  remains  notable  in 
him, — which,  logically,  we  ought  therefore  to  at- 


HOME    VIRTUES.  151 

tribute  to  the  religious  fervour  ; — and  that  distinc- 
tive character  is,  the  contented  indulgence  of  his 
own  weaknesses,  and  perseverance  in  his  own  ignor- 
ances. 

Mary.  But  that's  dreadful !  And  what  is  the 
source  of  the  peculiar  charm  which  we  all  feel  in 
his  work  ? 

L.  There  are  many  sources  of  it,  Mary ;  united 
and  seeming  like  one.  You  would  never  feel  that 
charm  but  in  the  work  of  an  entirely  good  man  ; 
be  sure  of  that ;  but  the  goodness  is  only  the  re- 
cipient and  modifying  element,  not  the  creative 
one.  Consider  carefully  what  delights  you  in  any 
original  picture  of  Angelico's.  You  will  find,  for 
one  minor  thing,  an  exquisite  variety  and  bright- 
ness of  ornamental  work.  That  is  not  Angelico's 
inspiration.  It  is  the  final  result  of  the  labour 
and  thought  of  millions  of  artists,  of  all  nations  ; 
from  the  earliest  Egyptian  potters  downwards — 
Greeks,  Byzantines,  Hindoos,  Arabs,  Gauls,  and 
Northmen — all  joining  in  the  toil  ;  and  consum- 
mating it  in  Florence,  in  that  century,  with  such 
embroidery  of  robe  and  inlaying  of  armour  as  had 
never  been  seen  till  then  ;  nor  probably,  ever  will 
be  seen  more.  Angelico  merely  takes  his  share 
of  this  inheritance,  and  applies  it  in  the  tenderest 
way  to  subjects  which  are  peculiarly  acceptant  of 
it  But  the  inspiration,  if  it  exist  anywhere,  flashes 
on  the  knight's  shield  quite  as  radiantly  as  on  the 


152  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

monk's  picture.  Examining  farther  into  the 
sources  of  your  emotion  in  the  Angelico  work, 
you  will  find  much  of  the  impression  of  sanctity 
dependent  on  a  singular  repose  and  grace  of  ges- 
ture, consummating  itself  in  the  floating,  flying, 
and  above  all,  in  the  dancing  groups.  That  is  not 
Angelico's  inspiration.  It  is  only  a  peculiarly 
tender  use  of  systems  of  grouping  which  had  been 
long  before  developed  by  Giotto,  Memmi,  and 
Orcagna  ;  and  the  real  root  of  it  all  is  simply — 
What  do  you  think,  children }  The  beautiful 
dancing  of  the  Florentine  maidens  ! 

Dora  (indignant  again).  Now,  I  wonder  what 
next !  Why  not  say  it  all  depended  on  Herodias' 
daughter,  at  once  ? 

L.  Yes ;  it  is  certainly  a  great  argument  against 
singing  that  there  were  once  sirens. 

Dora.  Well,  it  may  be  all  very  fine  and  philo- 
sophical, but  shouldn't  I  just  like  to  read  you  the 
end  of  the  second  volume  of  '  Modern  Painters '  1 

L,  My  dear,  do  you  think  any  teacher  could  be 
worth  your  listening  to,  or  anybody  else's  listening 
to,  who  had  learned  nothing,  and  altered  his 
mind  in  nothing,  from  seven  and  twenty  to  seven 
and  forty  ?  But  that  second  volume  is  very  good 
for  you  as  far  as  it  goes.  It  is  a  great  advance, 
and  a  thoroughly  straight  and  swift  one,  to  be  led, 
as  it  is  the  main  business  of  that  second  volume 
to  lead  you,  from  Dutch  cattle-pieces,  and  ruffian- 


HOME    VIRTUES.  153 

pieces,  to  Fra  Angelico,  And  it  is  right  for  you 
also,  as  you  grow  older,  to  be  strengthened  in  the 
general  sense  and  judgment  which  may  enable 
you  to  distinguish  the  weaknesses  from  the  virtues 
of  what  you  love,  else  you  might  come  to  love 
both  alike ;  or  even  the  weaknesses  without  the 
virtues.  You  might  end  by  liking  Overbeck  and 
Cornelius  as  well  as  AngeUco.  However,  I  have 
perhaps  been  leaning  a  little  too  much  to  the 
merely  practical  side  of  things,  in  to-night's  talk  ; 
and  you  are  always  to  remember,  children,  that  I 
do  not  deny,  though  I  cannot  affirm,  the  spiritual 
advantages  resulting,  in  certain  cases,  from  en- 
thusiastic religious  reverie,  and  from  the  other 
practices  of  saints  and  anchorites.  The  evidence 
respecting  them  has  never  yet  been  honestly  col- 
lected, much  less  dispassionately  examined  :  but 
assuredly,  there  is  in  that  direction  a  probability, 
and  more  than  a  probability,  of  dangerous  error, 
while  there  is  none  whatever  in  the  practice  of  an 
active,  cheerful,  and  benevolent  life.  The  hope 
of  attaining  a  higher  religious  position,  which  in- 
duces us  to  encounter,  for  its  exalted  alternative, 
the  risk  of  unhealthy  error,  is  often,  as  I  said, 
founded  more  on  pride  than  piety ;  and  those 
who,  in  modest  usefulness,  have  accepted  what 
seemed  to  them  here  the  lowliest  place  in  the 
kingdom  of  their  Father,  are  not,  I  believe,  the 
least  likely  to  receive  hereafter  the  command,  then 
unmistakable,  'Friend,  go  up  higher.' 


CRYSTAL  CAPRICE. 


LECTURE   VIII. 

CRYSTAL   CAPRICE. 

Formal  Lecture  in  Schoolroom,  after  some  practical 
examination  of  minerals. 

L.  We  have  seen  enough,  children,  though  very 
little  of  what  might  be  seen  if  we  had  more  time, 
of  mineral  structures  produced  by  visible  opposi- 
tion, or  contest  among  elements ;  structures  of 
which  the  variety,  however  great,  need  not  sur- 
prise us :  for  we  quarrel,  ourselves,  for  many  and 
slight  causes ; — much  more,  one  should  think, 
may  crystals,  who  can  only  feel  the  antagonism, 
not  argue  about  it.  But  there  is  a  yet  more  singu- 
lar mimicry  of  our  human  ways  in  the  varieties  of 
form  which  appear  owing  to  no  antagonistic  force  ; 
but  merely  to  the  variable  humour  and  caprice  of 
the  crystals  themselves  :  and  I  have  asked  you  all 
to  come  into  the  schoolroom  to-day,  because,  of 
course,  this  is  a  part  of  the  crystal  mind  which 
must  be  peculiarly  interesting  to  a  feminine  audi- 
ence.     {Great  symptoms  of  disapproval  on  the  part 

157 


158  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

of  said  audience.')  Now,  you  need  not  pretend 
that  it  will  not  interest  you ;  why  should  it  not  ? 
It  is  true  that  we  men  are  never  capricious ;  but 
that  only  makes  us  the  more  dull  and  disagreeable. 
You,  who  are  crystalline  in  brightness,  as  well  as 
in  caprice,  charm  infinitely,  by  infinitude  of 
change.  {A udible  murmurs  0/  '  Worse  and  worse  ! ' 
'As  if  we  could  be  got  over  that  way!'  ^fc.  The 
Lecturer,  however,  observing  the  expression  of  the 
features  to  he  more  complacent,  proceeds.')  And 
the  most  curious  mimicry,  if  not  of  your  changes 
of  fashion,  at  least  of  your  various  modes  (in 
healthy  periods)  of  national  costume,  takes  place 
among  the  crystals  of  different  countries.  With  a 
little  experience,  it  is  quite  possible  to  say  at  a 
glance,  in  what  districts  certain  crystals  have  been 
found  ;  and  although,  if  we  had  knowledge  ex- 
tended and  accurate  enough,  we  might  of  course 
ascertain  the  laws  and  circumstances  which  have 
necessarily  produced  the  form  peculiar  to  each 
locality,  this  would  be  just  as  true  of  the  fancies 
of  the  human  mind.  If  we  could  know  the  exact 
circumstances  which  affect  it,  we  could  foretell 
what  now  seems  to  us  only  caprice  of  thought,  as 
well  as  what  now  seems  to  us  only  caprice  of 
crystal :  nay,  so  far  as  our  knowledge  reaches,  it 
is  on  the  whole  easier  to  find  some  reason  why  the 
peasant  girls  of  Berne  should  wear  their  caps  in 
the  shape  of  butterflies  ;  and  the  peasant  girls  of 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  159 

Munich  their's  in  the  shape  of  shells,  than  to  say 
why  the  rock-crystals  of  Dauphin^  should  all  have 
their  summits  of  the  shape  of  lip-pieces  of  flageo- 
lets, while  those  of  St.  Gothard  are  symmetrical ; 
or  why  the  fluor  of  Chamouni  is  rose-coloured, 
and  in  octahedrons,  while  the  fluor  of  Weardale  is 
green,  and  in  cubes.  Still  farther  removed  is  the 
hope,  at  present,  of  accounting  for  minor  differ- 
ences in  modes  of  grouping  and  construction. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  caprices  of  this  single 
mineral,  quartz  ; — variations  upon  a  single  theme. 
It  has  many  forms ;  but  see  what  it  will  make  out 
of  this  one,  the  six-sided  prism.  For  shortness' 
sake,  I  shall  call  the  body  of  the  prism  its  *  column,' 
and  the  pyramid  at  the  extremities  its  '  cap. '  Now, 
here,  first  you  have  a  straight  column,  as  long  and 
thin  as  a  stalk  of  asparagus,  with  two  little  caps 
at  the  ends ;  and  here  you  have  a  short  thick 
column,  as  solid  as  a  haystack,  with  two  fat  caps 
at  the  ends ;  and  here  you  have  two  caps  fastened 
together,  and  no  column  at  all  between  them ! 
Then  here  is  a  crystal  with  its  column  fat  in  the 
middle,  and  tapering  to  a  little  cap  ;  and  here  is 
one  stalked  like  a  mushroom,  with  a  huge  cap  put 
on  the  top  of  a  slender  column  1  Then  here  is  a 
column  built  wholly  out  of  little  caps,  with  a  large 
smooth  cap  at  the  top.  And  here  is  a  column 
built  of  columns  and  caps  ;  the  caps  all  truncated 
about  half  way  to  their  points.     And  in  both  these 


l6o  THE  ETHICS   OF   THE  DUST. 

last,  the  little  crystals  are  set  anyhow,  and  build 
the  large  one  in  a  disorderly  way ;  but  here  is  a 
crystal  made  of  columns  and  truncated  caps,  set 
in  regular  terraces  all  the  way  up. 

Mary.  But  are  not  these  groups  of  crystals, 
rather  than  one  crystal  ? 

L.  What  do  you  mean  by  a  group,  and  what 
by  one  crystal  ? 

Dora  {audibly  aside,  to  Mary,  who  is  brought  to 
pause).  You  know  you  are  never  expected  to 
answer,  Mary. 

L.  I'm  sure  this  is  easy  enough.  What  do  you 
mean  by  a  group  of  people  ? 

Mary.  Three  or  four  together,  or  a  good  many 
together,  like  the  caps  in  these  crystals. 

L.  But  when  a  great  many  persons  get  together 
they  don't  take  the  shape  of  one  person  ? 

(Mary  still  at  pause.) 

Isabel.  No,  because  they  can't ;  but,  you  know 
the  crystals  can  ;  so  why  shouldn't  they? 

L.  Well,  they  don't ;  that  is  to  say,  they  don't 
always,  nor  even  often.      Look  here,  Isabel. 

Isabel.   What  a  nasty  ugly  thing  ! 

L.  I'm  glad  you  think  it  so  ugly.  Yet  it  is 
made  of  beautiful  crystals ;  they  are  a  little  grey 
and  cold  in  colour,  but  most  of  them  are  clear. 

Isabel.  But  they're  in  such  horrid,  horrid  dis- 
order ! 

L.  Yes  ;  all  disorder  is  horrid,  when  it  is  among 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  l6l 

things  that  are  naturally  orderly.  Some  little 
girls'  rooms  are  naturally  disorder\y,  I  suppose ; 
or  I  don't  know  how  they  could  live  in  them,  if 
they  cry  out  so  when  they  only  see  quartz  crystals 
in  confusion. 

Isabel.  Oh !  but  how  come  they  to  be  like 
that? 

L.  You  may  well  ask.  And  yet  you  will  always 
hear  people  talking  as  if  they  thought  order  more 
wonderful  than  disorder  !  It  is  wonderful — as  we 
have  seen ;  but  to  me,  as  to  you,  child,  the  su- 
premely wonderful  thing  is  that  nature  should  ever 
be  ruinous  or  wasteful,  or  deathful !  I  look  at 
this  wild  piece  of  crystallisation  with  endless 
astonishment. 

Mary.  Where  does  it  come  from  ? 

L.  The  Tete  Noire  of  Chamonix.  What  makes 
it  more  strange  is  that  it  should  be  in  a  vein  of 
fine  quartz.  If  it  were  in  a  mouldering  rock,  it 
would  be  natural  enough  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  so 
fine  substance,  here  are  the  crystals  tossed  in  a 
heap  ;  some  large,  myriads  small  (almost  as  small 
as  dust),  tumbling  over  each  other  like  a  terrified 
crowd,  and  glued  together  by  the  sides,  and  edges, 
and  backs,  and  heads;  some  warped,  and  some 
pushed  out  and  in,  and  all  spoiled,  and  each 
spoiling  the  rest. 

Mary.   And  how  flat  they  all  are  ! 

L.   Yes  ;  that's  the  fashion  at  the  Tete  Noire. 


1 62  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Mary.   But  surely  this  is  ruin,  not  caprice? 

L.  I  believe  it  is  in  great  part  misfortune ;  and 
we  will  examine  these  crystal  troubles  in  next  lec- 
ture. But  if  you  want  to  see  the  gracefullest  and 
happiest  caprices  of  which  dust  is  capable,  you 
must  go  to  the  Hartz ;  not  that  I  ever  mean  to  go 
there  myself,  for  I  want  to  retain  the  romantic 
feeling  about  the  name ;  and  I  have  done  myself 
some  harm  already  by  seeing  the  monotonous  and 
heavy  form  of  the  Brocken  from  the  suburbs  of 
Brunswick.  But  whether  the  mountains  be  pic- 
turesque or  not,  the  tricks  which  the  goblins  (as  I 
am  told)  teach  the  crystals  in  them,  are  incom- 
parably pretty.  They  work  chiefly  on  the  mind 
of  a  docile,  bluish-coloured,  carbonate  of  lime  ; 
which  comes  out  of  a  grey  limestone.  The  gob- 
lins take  the  greatest  possible  care  of  its  education, 
and  see  that  nothing  happens  to  it  to  hurt  its 
temper;  and  when  it  may  be  supposed  to  have 
arrived  at  the  crisis  which  is  to  a  well  brought  up 
mineral,  what  presentation  at  court  is  to  a  young 
lady — after  which  it  is  expected  to  set  fashions — 
there's  no  end  to  its  pretty  ways  of  behaving.  First 
it  will  make  itself  into  pointed  darts  as  fine  as 
hoar-frost  ;  here,  it  is  changed  into  a  white  fur  as 
fine  as  silk  ;  here  into  little  crowns  and  circlets,  as 
bright  as  silver ;  as  if  for  the  gnome  princesses  to 
wear ;  here  it  is  in  beautiful  little  plates,  for  them 
to  eat  off;    presently  it  is  in  towers  which  they 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  163 

might  be  imprisoned  in  ;  presently  in  caves  and 
cells,  where  they  may  make  nun-gnomes  of  them- 
selves, and  no  gnome  ever  hear  of  them  more  ; 
here  is  some  of  it  in  sheaves,  like  corn  ;  here, 
some  in  drifts,  like  snow  ;  here,  some  in  rays,  like 
stars :  and,  though  these  are,  all  of  them,  neces- 
sarily, shapes  that  the  mineral  takes  in  other 
places,  they  are  all  taken  here  with  such  a  grace 
that  you  recognise  the  high  caste  and  breeding  of 
the  crystals  wherever  you  meet  them,  and  know  at 
once  they  are  Hartz-born, 

Of  course,  such  fine  things  as  these  are  only 
done  by  crystals  which  are  perfectly  good,  and 
good-humoured  ;  and  of  course,  also,  there  are 
ill-humoured  crystals  who  torment  each  other, 
and  annoy  quieter  crystals,  yet  without  coming  to 
anything  like  serious  war.  Here  (for  once)  is 
some  ill-disposed  quartz,  tormenting  a  peaceable 
octahedron  of  fluor,  in  mere  caprice.  I  looked 
at  it  the  other  night  so  long,  and  so  wonderingly, 
just  before  putting  my  candle  out,  that  I  fell  into 
another  strange  dream.  But  you  don't  care  about 
dreams. 

Dora.  No  ;  we  didn't,  yesterday  ;  but  you  know 
we  are  made  up  of  caprice  ;  so  we  do,  to-day  : 
and  you  must  tell  it  us  directly. 

L.  Well,  you  see,  Neith  and  her  work  were  still 
much  in  my  mind  ;  and  then,  I  had  been  looking 
over  these  Hartz  things  for  you,  and  thinking  of 


164  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

the  sort  of  grotesque  sympathy  there  seemed  to 
be  in  them  with  the  beautiful  fringe  and  pinnacle 
work  of  Northern  architecture.  So,  when  I  fell 
asleep,  I  thought  I  saw  Neith  and  St.  Barbara 
talking  together. 

Dora.   But  what  had  St.  Barbara  to  do  with 
it.?* 

L.  My  dear,  I  am  quite  sure  St.  Barbara  is  the 
patroness  of  good  architects  ;  not  St.  Thomas, 
whatever  the  old  builders  thought.  It  might  be 
very  fine,  according  to  the  monks'  notions,  in  St. 
Thomas,  to  give  all  his  employer's  money  away 
to  the  poor  :  but  breaches  of  contract  are  bad 
foundations ;  and  I  believe,  it  was  not  he,  but  St. 
Barbara,  who  overlooked  the  work  in  all  the  build- 
ings you  and  I  care  about.  However  that  may 
be,  it  was  certainly  she  whom  I  saw  in  my  dream 
with  Neith.  Neith  was  sitting  weaving,  and  I 
thought  she  looked  sad,  and  threw  her  shuttle 
slowly  ;  and  St.  Barbara  was  standing  at  her  side, 
in  a  stiff  little  gown,  all  ins  and  outs,  and  angles ; 
but  so  bright  with  embroidery  that  it  dazzled  me 
whenever  she  moved  ;  the  train  of  it  was  just  like 
a  heap  of  broken  jewels,  it  was  so  stiff,  and  full  of 
corners,  and  so  many-coloured  and  bright.  Her 
hair  fell  over  her  shoulders  in  long,  delicate  waves, 
from  under  a  little  three  pinnacled  crown,  like  a 

*  Note  V. 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  1 65 

tower.  She  was  asking  Neith  about  the  laws  of 
architecture  in  Egypt  and  Greece  ;  and  when  Neith 
told  her  the  measures  of  the  pyramids,  St.  Barbara 
said  she  thought  they  would  have  been  better 
three-cornered  :  and  when  Neith  told  her  the  meas- 
ures of  the  Parthenon,  St.  Barbara  said  she  thought 
it  ought  to  have  had  two  transepts.  But  she  was 
pleased  when  Neith  told  her  of  the  temple  of  the 
dew,  and  of  the  Caryan  maidens  bearings  its  frieze  : 
and  then  she  thought  that  perhaps  Neith  would 
like  to  hear  what  sort  of  temples  she  was  building 
herself,  in  the  French  valleys,  and  on  the  crags  of 
the  Rhine.  So  she  began  gossiping,  just  as  one 
of  you  might  to  an  old  lady  :  and  certainly  she 
talked  in  the  sweetest  way  in  the  world  to  Neith  ; 
and  explained  to  her  all  about  crockets  and  pin- 
nacles :  and  Neith  sat,  looking  very  grave ;  and 
always  graver  as  St.  Barbara  went  on  ;  till  at  last, 
I'm  sorry  to  say,  St.  Barbara  lost  her  temper  a 
little. 

May  {very  grave  herself).      '  St.  Barbara '  ? 

L.  Yes,  May.  Why  shouldn't  she?  It  was 
very  tiresome  of  Neith  to  sit  looking  like  that. 

May.   But,  then,  St.  Barbara  was  a  saint  ! 

L.  What's  that,  May  ? 

May.  a  saint !  A  saint  is — I  am  sure  you 
know ! 

L.  If  I  did,  it  would  not  make  me  sure  that  you 
knew  too.  May  :  but  I  don't. 


1 66  THE   ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Violet  {expressing  (he  incredulity  of  the  audi- 
ence^.    Oh, — sir! 

L.  That  is  to  say,  I  know  that  people  are  called 
saints  who  are  supposed  to  be  better  than  others  : 
but  I  don't  know  how  much  better  they  must  be, 
in  order  to  be  saints  ;  nor  how  nearly  anybody 
may  be  a  saint,  and  yet  not  be  quite  one ;  nor 
whether  everybody  who  is  called  a  saint  was  one ; 
nor  whether  everybody  who  isn't  called  a  saint, 
isn't  one. 

{General  silence ;  the  audience  feeling  them  ■ 
selves  on  the  verge  of  the  Infinities — and  a 
Utile  shocked — and  much  puzzled  by  so  many 
questions  at  once. ) 

L.  Besides,  did  you  never  hear  that  verse  about 
being  called  to  be  '  saints '  ? 

May  {repeats  Rom.  i.  7). 

L.  Quite  right,  May.  Well,  then,  who  are 
called  to  be  that  ?     People  in  Rome  only  } 

May.   Ever}'body,  I  suppose,  whom  God  loves. 

L.  What !  little  girls  as  well  as  other  people  } 

May.   All  grown-up  people,  I  mean. 

L.  Why  not  little  girls.?  Are  they  wickeder 
when  they  are  little  ? 

May.   Oh,  I  hope  not. 

L.   Why  not  little  girls,  then  ? 

{Pause. ) 

Lily.  Because,  you  know,  we  can't  be  worth 
anything  if  we're  evet  so  good  ; — I  mean,  if  we 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  1 6/ 

try  to  be  ever  so  good  ;  and  we  can't  do  difficult 
things — like  saints. 

L.  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  that  old  people  are 
not  more  able  or  willing  for  their  difficulties  than 
you  children  are  for  yours.  All  I  can  say  is,  that 
if  ever  I  see  any  of  you,  when  you  are  seven  or 
eight  and  twenty,  knitting  your  brows  over  any 
work  you  want  to  do  or  to  understand,  as  I  saw 
you,  Lily,  knitting  your  brows  over  your  slate  this 
morning,  I  should  think  you  very  noble  women. 
But — to  come  back  to  my  dream — St.  Barbara  did 
lose  her  temper  a  little  ;  and  I  was  not  surprised. 
For  you  can't  think  how  provoked  Neith  looked, 
sitting  there  just  like  a  statute  of  sandstone  ;  only 
going  on  weaving,  like  a  machine ;  and  never 
quickening  the  cast  of  her  shuttle  ;  while  St.  Bar- 
bara was  telling  her  so  eagerly  all  about  the  most 
beautiful  things,  and  chattering  away,  as  fast  as 
bells  ring  on  Christmas  Eve,  till  she  saw  that  Neith 
didn't  care ;  and  then  St.  Barbara  got  as  red  as  a 
rose,  and  stopped,  just  in  time; — or  I  think  she 
would  really  have  said  something  naughty. 

Isabel.  Oh,  please,  but  didn't  Neith  say  any- 
thing then  ? 

L.  Yes.  She  said,  quite  quietly,  'It  may  be 
very  pretty,  my  love  ;  but  it  is  all  nonsense.' 

Isabel.   Oh  dear,  oh  dear  ;  and  then? 

L.  Well ;  then  I  was  a  little  angry  myself,  and 
hoped  St.  Barbara  would  be  quite  angry  ;  but  she 


1 68  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

wasn't.  She  bit  her  lips  first ;  and  then  gave  a 
great  sigh — such  a  wild,  sweet  sigh — and  then  she 
knelt  down  and  hid  her  face  on  Neith's  knees. 
Then  Neith  smiled  a  little,  and  was  moved. 

Isabel.   Oh,  I  am  so  glad  ! 

L.  And  she  touched  St.  Barbara's  forehead  with 
a  flower  of  white  lotus;  and  St.  Barbara  sobbed  once 
or  twice,  and  then  said  :  '  If  you  only  could  see 
how  beautiful  it  is,  and  how  much  it  makes  people 
feel  what  is  good  and  lovely ;  and  if  you  could 
only  hear  the  children  singing  in  the  Lady  chapels  !' 
And  Neith  smiled, — but  still  sadly, — and  said, 
'How  do  you  know  what  I  have  seen,  or  heard, 
my  love }  Do  you  think  all  those  vaults  and 
towers  of  yours  have  been  built  without  me  ? 
There  was  not  a  pillar  in  your  Giotto's  Santa  INIaria 
del  Fiore  which  I  did  not  set  true  by  my  spear- 
shaft  as  it  rose.  But  this  pinnacle  and  flame  work 
which  has  set  your  little  heart  on  fire,  isall  vanity  ; 
and  you  will  see  what  it  will  come  to,  and  that 
soon  ;  and  none  will  grieve  for  it  more  than  I. 
And  then  every  one  will  disbelieve  your  pretty 
symbols  and  types.  Men  must  be  spoken  simply 
to,  my  dear,  if  you  would  guide  them  kindly,  and 
long.'  But  St.  Barbara  answered,  that,  'Indeed 
she  thought  every  one  liked  her  work,'  and  that 
'  the  people  of  different  towns  were  as  eager  about 
their  cathedral  towers  as  about  their  privileges  or 
their  markets  ;'  and  then  she  asked  Neith  to  come 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  1 69 

and  build  something  with  her,  wall  against  tower ; 
and  '  see  whether  the  people  will  be  as  much  pleased 
with  your  building  as  with  mine.'  But  Neith 
answered,  'I  will  not  contend  with  you,  my  dear. 
I  strive  not  with  those  who  love  me  ;  and  for  those 
who  hate  me,  it  is  not  well  to  strive  with  me,  as 
weaver  Arachne  knows.  And  remember,  child, 
that  nothing  is  ever  done  beautifully,  which  is  done 
in  rivalship  ;  nor  nobly,  which  is  done  in  pride. ' 
Then  St.  Barbara  hung  her  head  quite  down, 
and  said  she  was  very  sorry  she  had  been  so  fool- 
ish ;  and  kissed  Neith  ;  and  stood  thinking  a 
minute  :  and  then  her  eyes  got  bright  again,  and 
she  said,  she  would  go  directly  and  build  a  chapel 
with  five  windows  in  it ;  four  for  the  four  cardinal 
virtues,  and  one  for  humility,  in  the  middle,  big- 
ger than  the  rest.  And  Neith  very  nearly  laughed 
quite  out,  I  thought ;  certainly  her  beautiful  lips 
lost  all  their  sternness  for  an  instant ;  then  she 
said,  '  Well,  love,  build  it,  but  do  not  put  so  many 
colours  into  your  windows  as  you  osually  do  ;  else 
no  one  will  be  able  to  see  to  read,  inside  :  and 
when  it  is  built,  let  a  poor  village  priest  consecrate 
it,  and  not  an  archbishop. '  St.  Barbara  started  a 
little,  I  thought,  and  turned  as  if  to  say  something ; 
but  changed  her  mind,  and  gathered  up  her  train, 
and  went  out.  And  Neith  bent  herself  again  to 
her  loom,  in  which  she  was  weaving  a  web  of 
strange  dark  colours,   I  thought ;  but  perhaps  it 


I/O  THE   ETHICS   OF    THE   DUST. 

was  only  after  the  glittering  of  St.  Barbara's  em- 
broidered train  :  and  I  tried  to  make  out  the 
figures  in  Neith's  web,  and  confused  myself  among 
them,  as  one  always  does  in  dreams  ;  and  then  the 
dream  changed  altogether,  and  I  found  myself,  all 
at  once,  among  a  crowd  of  little  Gothic  and 
Egyptian  spirits,  who  were  quarrelling :  at  least 
the  Gothic  ones  were  trying  to  quarrel  ;  for  the 
Egyptian  ones  only  sat  with  their  hands  on  their 
knees,  and  their  aprons  sticking  out  very  stiffly  ; 
and  stared.  And  after  a  while  I  began  to  under- 
stand what  the  matter  was.  It  seemed  that  some 
of  the  troublesome  building  imps,  who  meddle  and 
make  continually,  even  in  the  best  Gothic  work, 
had  been  listening  to  St.  Barbara's  talk  with  Neith  ; 
and  had  made  up  their  minds  that  Neith  had  no 
workpeople  who  could  build  against  them.  They 
were  but  dull  imps,  as  you  may  fancy  by  their 
thinking  that ;  and  never  had  done  much,  except 
disturbing  the  great  Gothic  building  angels  at  their 
work,  and  playing  tricks  to  each  other ;  indeed,  of 
late  they  had  been  living  years  and  years,  like  bats, 
up  under  the  cornices  of  Strasbourg  and  Cologne 
cathedrals,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  mouths 
at  the  people  below.  However,  they  thought  they 
knew  everything  about  tower  building  ;  and  those 
who  had  heard  what  Neith  said,  told  the  rest ;  and 
they  all  flew  down  directly,  chattering  in  German, 
like  jackdaws,  to  show  Neith's  people  what  they 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  I /I 

could  do.  And  they  had  found  some  of  Neith's 
old  workpeople  somewhere  near  Sais,  sitting  in  the 
sun,  with  their  hands  on  their  knees  ;  and  abused 
them  heartily  :  and  Neith's  people  did  not  mind 
at  first,  but,  after  a  while,  they  seemed  to  get  tired 
of  the  noise ;  and  one  or  two  rose  up  slowly,  and 
laid  hold  of  their  measuring  rods,  and  said,  '  If 
St.  Barbara's  people  liked  to  build  with  them, 
tower  against  pyramid,  they  would  show  them  how 
to  lay  stones.'  Then  the  Gothic  little  spirits  threw 
a  great  many  double  somersaults  for  joy  ;  and  put 
the  tips  of  their  tongues  out  slily  to  each  other,  on 
one  side  ;  and  I  heard  the  Egyptians  say,  '  they 
must  be  some  new  kind  of  frog — they  didn't  think 
there  was  much  building  in  them.'  However,  the 
stiff  old  workers  took  their  rods,  as  I  said,  and 
measured  out  a  square  space  of  sand  ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  German  spirits  saw  that,  they  declared  they  " 
wanted  exactly  that  bit  of  ground  to  build  on,  them- 
selves. Then  the  Egyptian  builders  offered  to  go 
farther  off,  and  the  German  ones  said,  'Ja  wohl.' 
But  as  soon  as  the  Egyptians  had  measured  out 
another  square,  the  little  Germans  said  they  must 
have  some  of  that  too.  Then  Neith's  people 
laughed  ;  and  said,  '  they  might  take  as  much  as 
they  liked,  but  they  would  not  move  the  plan  of 
their  pyramid  again.'  Then  the  little  Germans 
took  three  pieces,  and  began  to  build  three  spires 
directly ;    one  large,   and  two  little.     And  when 


172  THE  ETHICS   OF    THE  DUST. 

the  Egyptians  saw  they  had  fairly  begun,  they  laid 
their  foundation  all  round,  of  large  square  stones  : 
and  began  to  build,  so  steadily  that  they  had  like 
to  have  swallowed  up  the  three  little  German  spires. 
So  when  the  Gothic  spirits  saw  that,  they  built 
their  spires  leaning,  like  the  tower  of  Pisa,  that 
they  might  stick  out  at  the  side  of  the  pyramid. 
And  Neith's  people  stared  at  them ;  and  thought 
it  very  clever,  but  very  wrong  ;  and  on  they  went, 
in  their  own  way,  and  said  nothing.  Then  the 
little  Gothic  spirits  were  terribly  provoked  because 
they  could  not  spoil  the  shape  of  the  pyramid  ;  and 
they  sat  down  all  along  the  ledges  of  it  to  make 
faces  ;  but  that  did  no  good.  Then  they  ran  to  the 
corners,  and  put  their  elbows  on  their  knees,  and 
stuck  themselves  out  as  far  as  they  could,  and  made 
more  faces  ;  but  that  did  no  good,  neither.  Then 
they  looked  up  to  the  sky,  and  opened  their 
mouths  wide,  and  gobbled,  and  said  it  was  too  hot 
for  work,  and  wondered  when  it  would  rain  ;  but 
that  did  no  good,  neither.  And  all  the  while  the 
Egyptian  spirits  were  laying  step  above  step 
patiently.  But  when  the  Gothic  ones  looked,  and 
saw  how  high  they  had  got,  they  said,  'Ach, 
Himmel !'  and  flew  down  in  a  great  black  cluster 
to  the  bottom  ;  and  swept  out  a  level  spot  in  the 
sand  with  their  wings,  in  no  time,  and  began  build- 
ing a  tower  straight  up,  as  fast  as  they  could.  And 
the  Egyptians  stood  still  again  to  stare  at  them ; 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  1 73 

for  the  Gothic  spirits  had  got  quite  into  a  passion, 
and  were  really  working  very  wonderfully.  They 
cut  the  sandstone  into  strips  as  fine  as  reeds ;  and 
put  one  reed  on  the  top  of  another,  so  that  you 
could  not  see  where  they  fitted  :  and  they  twisted 
them  in  and  out  like  basket  work,  and  knotted 
them  into  likenesses  of  ugly  faces,  and  of  strange 
beasts  biting  each  other ;  and  up  they  went,  and  up 
still,  and  they  made  spiral  staircases  at  the  corners, 
for  the  loaded  workers  to  come  up  by  (for  I  saw 
they  were  but  weak  imps,  and  could  not  fly  with 
stones  on  their  backs),  and  then  they  made  traceried 
galleries  for  them  to  run  round  by  ;  and  so  up 
again  ;  with  finer  and  finer  work,  till  the  Egyptians 
wondered  whether  they  meant  the  thing  for  a  tower 
or  a  pillar  :  and  I  heard  them  saying  to  one  an- 
other, '  It  was  nearly  as  pretty  as  lotus  stalks  ;  and 
if  it  were  not  for  the  ugly  faces,  there  would  be  a 
fine  temple,  if  they  were  going  to  build  it  ail  with 
pillars  as  big  as  that ! '  But  in  a  minute  after- 
wards,— ^just  as  the  Gothic  spirits  had  carried  their 
work  as  high  as  the  upper  course,  but  three  or  four, 
of  the  pyramid — the  Egyptians  called  out  to  them 
to  '  mind  what  they  were  about,  for  the  sand  was 
running  away  from  under  one  of  their  tower 
corners.'  But  it  was  too  late  to  mind  what  they 
were  about ;  for,  in  another  instant,  the  whole 
tower  sloped  aside  ;  and  the  Gothic  imps  rose  out 
of  it  like  a  flight  of  puffins,  in  a  single  cloud  ;  but 


174  THE   ETHICS   OF    THE   DUST. 

screaming  worse  than  any  puffins  you  ever  heard  : 
and  down  came  the  tower,  all  in  a  piece,  like  a  fall- 
ing poplar,  with  its  head  right  on  the  flank  of  the 
pyramid;  against  which  it  snapped  short  off. 
And  of  course  that  waked  me  ! 

Mary.  What  a  shame  of  you  to  have  such  a 
dream,  after  all  you  have  told  us  about  Gothic 
architecture ! 

L.  If  you  have  understood  anything  I  ever  told 
you  about  it,  you  know  that  no  architecture  was 
ever  corrupted  more  miserably  ;  or  abolished  more 
justly  by  the  accomplishment  of  its  own  follies. 
Besides,  even  in  its  days  of  power,  it  was  subject 
to  catastrophes  of  this  kind.  I  have  stood  too 
often,  mourning,  by  the  grand  fragment  of  the 
apse  of  Beauvais,  not  to  have  that  fact  well  burnt 
into  me.  Still,  you  must  have  seen,  surely, 
that  these  imps  were  of  the  Flamboyant  school  ; 
or,  at  least,  of  the  German  schools  correspondent 
with  it  in  extravagance. 

Mary.  But,  then,  were  is  the  crystal  about 
which  you  dreamed  all  this.? 

L.  Here  ;  but  I  suppose  little  Pthah  has  touched 
it  again,  for  it  is  very  small.  But,  you  see,  here 
is  the  pyramid,  built  of  great  square  stones  of 
fluor  spar,  straight  up  ;  and  here  are  the  three 
little  pinnacles  of  mischievous  quartz,  which  have 
set  themselves,  at  the  same  time,  on  the  same 
foundation  ;  only  they  lean  like  the  tower  of  Pisa, 


CRYSTAL    CAPRICE.  1/5 

and  come  out  obliquely  at  the  side  :  and  here  is 
one  great  spire  of  quartz  which  seems  as  if  it  had 
been  meant  to  stand  straight  up,  a  little  way  off  ; 
and  then  had  fallen  down  against  the  pyramid 
base,  breaking  its  pinnacle  away.  In  reality,  it 
has  crystallised  horizontally,  and  terminated  im- 
perfectly :  but,  then,  by  what  caprice  does  one 
crystal  form  horizontally,  when  all  the  rest  stand 
upright?  But  this  is  nothing  to  the  phanta- 
sies of  fluor,  and  quartz,  and  some  other  such 
companions,  when  they  get  leave  to  do  anything 
they  like.  I  could  show  you  fifty  specimens, 
about  every  one  of  which  you  might  fancy  a  new 
fairy  tale.  Not  that,  in  truth,  any  crystals  get 
leave  to  do  quite  what  they  like ;  and  many  of 
them  are  sadly  tried,  and  have  little  time  for  ca- 
prices— poor  things  ! 

Mary.  I  thought  they  always  looked  as  if  they 
were  either  in  play  or  in  mischief!  What  trials 
have  they  ? 

L.  Trials  much  like  our  own.  Sickness,  and 
starvation  ;  fevers,  and  agues,  and  palsy  ;  oppres- 
sion ;  and  old  age,  and  the  necessity  of  passing 
away  in  their  time,  like  all  else.  If  there's  any 
pity  in  you,  you  must  come  to-morrow,  and  take 
some  part  in  these  crystal  griefs. 

Dora.  I  am  sure  we  shall  cry  till  our  eyes  are 
red. 

L.   Ah,  you  may  laugh,   Dora  :  but  I've  been 


1/6 


THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 


made  grave,  not  once,  nor  twice,  to  see  that  even 
crystals  '  cannot  choose  but  be  old '  at  last.  It 
may  be  but  a  shallow  proverb  of  the  Justice's ;  but 
it  is  a  shrewdly  wide  one. 

Dora  {pensive,  for  once).  I  suppose  it  is  very 
dreadful  to  be  old  !  But  then  [brightening  again), 
what  should  we  do  without  our  dear  old  friends, 
and  our  nice  old  lecturers  .? 

L.  If  all  nice  old  lecturers  were  minded  as  little 
as  one  I  know  of 

Dora.  And  if  they  all  meant  as  little  what  they 
say,  would  they  not  deserve  it?  But  we'll  come 
— we'll  come,  and  cry. 


ICectnre  9. 
CRYSTAL  SORROWS. 


LECTURE  IX. 

CRYSTAL  SORROWS. 

Working  Lecture  in  Schoolroom. 

L.  We  have  been  hitherto  talking,  children,  as 
if  crystals  might  live,  and  play,  and  quarrel,  and 
behave  ill  or  well,  according  to  their  characters, 
without  interruption  from  anything  else.  But  so 
far  from  this  being  so,  nearly  all  crystals,  what- 
ever their  characters,  have  to  live  a  hard  life  of  it, 
and  meet  with  many  misfortunes.  If  we  could 
see  far  enough,  we  should  find,  indeed,  that,  at 
the  root,  all  their  vices  were  misfortunes  :  but  to- 
day I  want  you  to  see  what  sort  of  troubles  the 
best  crystals  have  to  go  through,  occasionally,  by 
no  fault  of  their  own. 

This  black  thing,  which  is  one  of  the  prettiest 
of  the  very  few  pretty  black  things  in  the  world, 
is  called  'Tourmaline.'  It  may  be  transparent, 
and  green,  or  red,  as  well  as  black ;  and  then  no 
stone  can  be  prettier  (only,  all  the  light  that  gets 
into  it,  I  believe,  comes  out  a  good  deal  the  worse ; 

179 


l80  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

and  is  not  itself  again  for  a  long  while).  But  this 
is  the  commonest  state  of  it, — opaque,  and  as 
black  as  jet. 

Mary.   What  does  '  Tourmaline '  mean  ? 

L.  They  say  it  is  Ceylanese,  and  I  don't  know 
Ceylanese ;  but  we  may  always  be  thankful  for  a 
graceful  word,  whatever  it  means. 

Mary.   And  what  is  it  made  of? 

L.  A  little  of  everything ;  there's  always  flint, 
and  clay,  and  magnesia  in  it ;  and  the  black  is 
iron,  according  to  its  fancy  ;  and  there's  boracic 
acid,  if  you  know  what  that  is  ;  and  if  you  don't, 
I  cannot  tell  you  to-day ;  and  it  doesn't  signify  : 
and  there's  potash,  and  soda ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
the  chemistry  of  it  is  more  like  a  mediaeval  doc- 
tor's prescription,  than  the  making  of  a  respectable 
mineral :  but  it  may,  perhaps,  be  owing  to  the 
strange  complexity  of  its  make,  that  it  has  a  nota- 
ble habit  which  makes  it,  to  me,  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  minerals.  You  see  these  two  crys- 
tals are  broken  right  across,  in  many  places,  just 
as  if  they  had  been  shafts  of  black  marble  fallen 
from  a  ruinous  temple ;  and  here  they  lie,  "im- 
bedded in  white  quartz,  fragment  succeeding  frag- 
ment, keeping  the  line  of  the  original  crystal, 
while  the  quartz  fills  up  the  intervening  spaces. 
Now  tourmaline  has  a  trick  of  doing  this,  more 
than  any  other  mineral  I  know ;  here  is  another 
bit  which  I  picked  up  on  the  glacier  of  Macug- 


CRYSTAL   SORROWS.  l8l 

naga ;  it  is  broken,  like  a  pillar  built  of  very  flat 
broad  stones,  into  about  thirty  joints,  and  all  these 
are  heaved  and  warped  away  from  each  other  side- 
ways, almost  into  a  line  of  steps  ;  and  then  all  is 
filled  up  with  quartz  paste.  And  here,  lastly  is  a 
green  Indian  piece,  in  which  the  pillar  is  first  dis- 
jointed, and  then  wrung  round  into  the  shape  of 
an  S. 

Mary.    How  can  this  have  been  done  ? 

L.  There  are  a  thousand  ways  in  which  it  may 
have  been  done ;  the  difficulty  is  not  to  account 
for  the  doing  of  it ;  but  for  the  showing  of  it  in 
some  crystals,  and  not  in  others.  You  never  by 
any  chance  get  a  quartz  crystal  broken  or  twisted 
in  this  way.  If  it  break  or  twist  at  all,  which  it 
does  sometimes,  like  the  spire  of  Dijon,  it  is  by 
its  own  will  or  fault ;  it  never  seems  to  have  been 
passively  crushed.  But,  for  the  forces  which 
cause  this  passive  ruin  of  the  tourmaline, — here 
is  a  stone  which  will  show  you  multitudes  of  them 
in  operation  at  once.  It  is  known  as  '  brecciated 
agate,'  beautiful,  as  you  see  ;  and  highly  valued  as 
a  pebble :  yet,  so  far  as  I  can  read  or  hear,  no 
one  has  ever  looked  at  it  with  the  least  attention. 
At  the  first  glance,  you  see  it  is  made  of  very  fine 
red  striped  agates,  which  have  been  broken  into 
small  pieces,  and  fastened  together  again  by  paste, 
also  of  agate.  There  would  be  nothing  wonder- 
ful in  this,  if  this  were  all.     It  is  well  known  that 


1 82  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

by  the  movements  of  strata,  portions  of  rock  are 
often  shattered  to  pieces  : — well  known  also  that 
agate  is  a  deposit  of  flint  by  water  under  certain 
conditions  of  heat  and  pressure  :  there  is,  there- 
fore, nothing  wonderful  in  an  agate's  being  broken  ; 
and  nothing  wonderful  in  its  being  mended  with 
the  solution  out  of  which  it  was  itself  originally 
congealed.  And  with  this  explanation,  most  peo- 
ple, looking  at  a  brecciated  agate,  or  brecciated 
anything,  seem  to  be  satisfied.  I  was  so  myself, 
for  twenty  years ;  but,  lately  happening  to  stay 
for  some  time  at  the  Swiss  Baden,  where  the  beach 
of  the  Limmat  is  almost  wholly  composed  of  brec- 
ciated limestones,  I  began  to  examine  them 
thoughtfully ;  and  perceived,  in  the  end,  that  they 
were,  one  and  all,  knots  of  as  rich  mystery  as  any 
poor  little  human  brain  was  ever  lost  in.  That 
piece  of  agate  in  your  hand,  Mary,  will  show  you 
many  of  the  common  phenomena  of  breccias ; 
but  you  need  not  knit  your  brows  over  it  in  that 
way  ;  depend  upon  it,  neither  you  nor  I  shall  ever 
know  anything  about  the  way  it  was  made,  as  long 
as  we  live. 

Dora.  That  does  not  seem  much  to  depand 
upon. 

L.  Pardon  me,  puss.  When  once  we  gain  some 
real  notion  of  the  extent  and  unconquerableness 
of  our  ignorance,  it  is  a  very  broad  and  restful 
thing  to  depend  upon  :  you  can  throw  yourself 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  1 83 

upon  it  at  ease,  as  on  a  cloud,  to  feast  with  the 
gods.  You  do  not  thenceforward  trouble  your- 
self,— nor  any  one  else, — with  theories,  or  the 
contradiction  of  theories  ;  you  neither  get  head- 
ache nor  heartburning  ;  and  you  never  more  waste 
your  poor  little  store  of  strength,  or  allowance  of 
time. 

However,  there  are  certain  facts,  about  this 
agate-making,  which  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  then  you 
may  look  at  it  in  a  pleasant  wonder  as  long  as  you 
like ;  pleasant  wonder  is  no  loss  of  time. 

First,  then,  it  is  not  broken  freely  by  a  blow  ; 
it  is  slowly  wrung,  or  ground,  to  pieces.  You 
can  only  with  extreme  dimness  conceive  the  force 
exerted  on  mountains  in  transitional  states  of 
movement.  You  have  all  read  a  little  geology ; 
and  you  know  how  coolly  geologists  talk  of  moun- 
tains being  raised  or  depressed.  They  talk  coolly 
of  it,  because  they  are  accustomed  to  the  fact ;  but 
the  very  universality  of  the  fact  prevents  us  from 
ever  conceiving  distinctly  the  conditions  of  force 
involved.  You  know  I  was  living  last  year  in 
Savoy  ;  my  house  was  on  the  back  of  a  sloping 
mountain,  which  rose  gradually  for  two  miles, 
behind  it ;  and  then  fell  at  once  in  a  great  preci- 
pice towards  Geneva,  going  down  three  thousand 
feet  in  four  or  five  cliffs,  or  steps.  Now  that 
whole  group  of  cliffs  had  simply  been  torn  away 
by  sheer  strength   from   the  rocks  below,  as  if  the 


184  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

whole  mass  had  been  as  soft  as  biscuit.  Put  four 
or  five  captains'  biscuits  on  the  floor,  on  the  top 
of  one  another  ;  and  try  to  break  them  all  in  half, 
not  by  bending,  but  by  holding  one  half  down, 
and  tearing  the  other  halves  straight  up ; — of 
course  you  will  not  be  able  to  do  it,  but  you  will 
feel  and  comprehend  the  sort  of  force  needed. 
Then,  fancy  each  captains'  biscuit  a  bed  of  rock, 
six  or  seven  hundred  feet  thick ;  and  the  whole 
mass  torn  straight  through  ;  and  one  half  heaved 
up  three  thousand  feet,  grinding  against  the  other 
as  it  rose, — and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the 
making  of  the  Mont  Sal  eve. 

May.   But  it  must  crush  the  rocks  all  to  dust! 

L.  No ;  for  there  is  no  room  for  dust.  The 
pressure  is  too  great ;  probably  the  heat  developed 
also  so  great  that  the  rock  is  made  partly  ductile ; 
but  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  we  never  can  see  these 
parts  of  mountains  in  the  state  they  were  left  in 
at  the  time  of  their  elevation  ;  for  it  is  precisely 
in  these  rents  and  dislocations  that  the  crystalline 
power  principally  exerts  itself.  It  is  essentially  a 
styptic  power,  and  wherever  the  earth  is  torn,  it 
heals  and  binds  ;  nay,  the  torture  and  grieving  of 
the  earth  seem  necessary  to  bring  out  its  full 
energy  ;  for  you  only  find  the  crystalline  living 
power  fully  in  action,  where  the  rents  and  faults 
are  deep  and  many. 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  185 

Dora.  If  you  please,  sir, — would  you  tell  us — 
what  are  '  faults '  ? 

L.   You  never  heard  of  such  things  ? 

Dora.    Never  in  all  our  lives. 

L.  When  a  vein  of  rock  which  is  going  on 
smoothly,  is  interrupted  by  another  troublesome 
little  vein,  which  stops  it,  and  puts  it  out,  so  that 
it  has  to  begin  again  in  another  place — that  is 
called  a  fault,  /  always  think  it  ought  to  be 
called  the  fault  of  the  vein  that  interrupts  it ;  but 
the  miners  always  call  it  the  fault  of  the  vein  that 
is  interrupted. 

Dora.  So  it  is,  if  it  does  not  begin  again  where 
it  left  off. 

L.  Well,  that  is  certainly  the  gist  of  the  busi- 
ness :  but,  whatever  good-natured  old  lecturers 
may  do,  the  rocks  have  a  bad  habit,  when  they  are 
once  interrupted,  of  never  asking  'Where  was  I?' 

Dora.  W^hen  the  two  halves  of  the  dining  table 
came  separate,  yesterday,  was  that  a  '  fault '  ? 

L.  Yes  ;  but  not  the  table's.  However,  it  is 
not  a  bad  illustration,  Dora.  When  beds  of  rock 
are  only  interrupted  by  a  fissure,  but  remain  at  the 
same  level,  like  the  two  halves  of  the  table,  it  is 
not  called  a  fault,  but  only  a  fissure ;  but  if  one 
half  of  the  table  be  either  tilted  higher  than  the 
other,  or  pushed  to  the  side,  so  that  the  two  parts 
will  not  fit,  it  is  a  fault.  You  had  better  read  the 
chapter  on  faults  in  Jukes's  Geology  ;  then  you  will 


1 86  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

know  all  about  it.  And  this  rent  that  I  am  tell- 
ing you  of  in  the  Saleve,  is  one  only  of  myriads, 
to  which  are  owing  the  forms  of  the  Alps,  as,  I 
believe,  of  all  great  mountain  chains.  Wherever 
you  see  a  precipice  on  any  scale  of  real  magnifi- 
cence, you  will  nearly  always  find  it  owing  to  some 
dislocation  of  this  kind ;  but  the  point  of  chief 
wonder  to  me,  is  the  delicacy  of  the  touch  by 
which  these  gigantic  rents  have  been  apparently 
accomplished.  Note,  however,  that  we  have  no 
clear  evidence,  hitherto,  of  the  time  taken  to  pro- 
duce any  of  them.  We  know  that  a  change  of 
temperature  alters  the  position  and  the  angles  of 
the  atoms  of  crystals,  and  also  the  entire  bulk  of 
rocks.  We  know  that  in  all  volcanic,  and  the 
greater  part  of  all  subterranean,  action,  tempera- 
tures are  continually  changing,  and  therefore 
masses  of  rock  must  be  expanding  or  contracting, 
with  infinite  slowness,  but  with  infinite  force. 
This  pressure  must  result  in  mechanical  strain 
somewhere,  both  in  their  own  substance,  and  in 
that  of  the  rocks  surrounding  them  ;  and  we  can 
form  no  conception  of  the  result  of  irresistible 
pressure,  applied  so  as  to  rend  and  raise,  with  im- 
perceptible slowness  of  gradation,  masses  thou- 
sands of  feet  in  thickness.  We  want  some  experi- 
ments tried  on  masses  of  iron  and  stone ;  and  we 
can't  get  them  tried,  because  Christian  creatures 
never  will  seriously  and  sufficiently  spend  money. 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  1 8/ 

except  to  find  out  the  shortest  ways  of  kiUing  each 
other.  But,  besides  this  slow  kind  of  pressure, 
there  is  evidence  of  more  or  less  sudden  violence, 
on  the  same  terrific  scale ;  and,  through  it  all,  the 
wonder,  as  I  said,  is  always  to  me  the  delicacy  of 
touch.  I  cut  a  block  of  the  Saleve  limestone  from 
the  edge  of  one  of  the  principal  faults  which  have 
formed  the  precipice  ;  it  is  a  lovely  compact  lime- 
stone, and  the  fault  itself  is  filled  up  with  a  red 
breccia,  formed  of  the  crushed  fragments  of  the 
torn  rock,  cemented  by  a  rich  red  crystalline 
paste.  I  have  had  the  piece  I  cut  from  it  smoothed, 
and  polished  across  the  junction  ;  here  it  is  ;  and 
you  may  now  pass  your  soft  little  fingers  over  the 
surface,  without  so  much  as  feeling  the  place 
where  a  rock  which  all  the  hills  of  England  might 
have  been  sunk  in  the  body  of,  and  not  a  summit 
seen,  was  torn  asunder  through  that  whole  thick- 
ness, as  a  thin  dress  is  torn  when  you  tread  upon 
it. 

{The  audience  examine  the  stone,  and  touch  it 
timidly,  but  the  matter  remains  inconceivable 
to  them. ) 

Mary  {struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  stone).  But 
this  is  almost  marble? 

L.  It  is  quite  marble.  And  another  singular 
point  in  the  business,  to  my  mind,  is  that  these 
stones,  which  men  have  been  cutting  into  slabs, 
for  thousands  of  years,  to  ornament  their  princi- 


1 88  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

pal  buildings  with, — and  which,  under  the  general 
name  of  'marble,'  have  been  the  delight  of  the 
eyes,  and  the  wealth  of  architecture,  among  all 
civilised  nations, — are  precisely  'those  on  which 
the  signs  and  brands  of  these  earth  agonies  have 
been  chiefly  struck ;  and  there  is  not  a  purple 
vein  nor  flaming  zone  in  them,  which  is  not  the 
record  of  their  ancient  torture.  What  a  boundless 
capacity  for  sleep,  and  for  serene  stupidity,  there 
is  in  the  human  mind  !  Fancy  reflective  beings, 
who  cut  and  polish  stones  for  three  thousand  years, 
for  the  sake  of  the  pretty  stains  upon  them  ;  and 
educate  themselves  to  an  art  at  last  (such  as  it  is), 
of  imitating  these  veins  by  dexterous  painting  ; 
and  never  a  curious  soul  of  them,  all  that  while, 
asks,  '  What  painted  the  rocks  ? ' 

{The  audience  look  dejected,  and  ashamed  of 
themselves. ) 
The  fact  is,  we  are  all,  and  always,  asleep, 
through  our  lives ;  and  it  is  only  by  pinching  our- 
selves very  hard  that  we  ever  come  to  see,  or 
understand,  anything.  At  least,  it  is  not  always 
we  who  pinch  ourselves  ;  sometimes  other  people 
pinch  us ;  which  I  suppose  is  very  good  of  them, 
— or  other  things,  which  I  suppose  is  very  proper 
of  them.  But  it  is  a  sad  life ;  made  up  chiefly 
of  naps  and  pinches. 

{Some  of  the  audience,    on  this,  appearing  to 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  1 89 

think  thai  the  others  require  pinching,    the 

Lecturer  changes  the  subject. ) 
Now,  however,  for  once,  look  at  a  piece  of  mar- 
ble carefully,  and  think  about  it.  You  see  this  is 
one  side  of  the  fault ;  the  other  side  is  down  or 
up,  nobody  knows  where ;  but,  on  this  side,  you 
can  trace  the  evidence  of  the  dragging  and  tearing" 
action.  All  along  the  edge  of  this  marble,  the 
ends  of  the  fibres  of  the  rock  are  torn,  here  an 
inch,  and  there  half  an  inch,  away  from  each 
other ;  and  you  see  the  exact  places  where  they 
fitted,  before  they  were  torn  separate ;  and  you 
see  the  rents  are  now  all  filled  up  with  the  san- 
guine paste,  full  of  the  broken  pieces  of  the  rock; 
the  paste  itself  seems  to  have  been  half  melted, 
and  partly  to  have  also  melted  the  edge  of  the 
fragments  it  contains,  and  then  to  have  crystal- 
lised with  them,  and  round  them.  And  the 
brecciated  agate  I  first  showed  you  contains  exactly 
the  same  phenomena  ;  a  zoned  crystallisation  go- 
ing on  amidst  the  cemented  fragments,  partly 
altering  the  structure  of  those  fragments  them- 
selves, and  subject  to  continual  change,  either  in 
the  intensity  of  its  own  power,  or  in  the  nature  of 
the  materials  submitted  to  it ; — so  that,  at  one 
time,  gravity  acts  upon  them,  and  disposes  them 
in  horizontal  layers,  or  causes  them  to  droop  in 
stalactites  ;  and  at  another,  gravity  is  entirely  de- 
fied, and  the  substances  in  solution  are  crystallised 


190  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

in  bands  of  equal  thickness  on  every  side  of  the 
cell.  It  would  require  a  course  of  lectures  longer 
than  these  (I  have  a  great  mind, — ^you  have  be- 
haved so  saucily — to  stay  and  give  them)  to  de- 
scribe to  you  the  phenomena  of  this  kind,  in 
agates  and  chalcedonies  only ; — nay,  there  is  a 
single  sarcophagus  in  the  British  Museum,  covered 
with  grand  sculpture  of  the  i8th  dynasty,  which 
contains  in  the  magnificent  breccia  (agates  and 
jaspers  imbedded  in  porphyry),  out  of  which  it 
is"  hewn,  material  for  the  thought  of  years ;  and 
record  of  the  earth-sorrow  of  ages  in  comparison 
with  the  duration  of  which,  the  Egyptian  letters 
tell  us  but  the  history  of  the  evening  and  morning 
of  a  day. 

Agates,  I  think,  of  all  stones,  confess  most  of 
their  past  history  ;  but  all  crystallisation  goes  on 
under,  and  partly  records,  circumstances  of  this 
kind — circumstances  of  infinite  variety,  but  always 
involving  difficulty,  interruption,  and  change  of 
condition  at  different  times.  Observe,  first,  you 
have  the  whole  mass  of  the  rock  in  motion,  either 
contracting  itself,  and  so  gradually  widening  the 
cracks  ;  or  being  compressed,  and  thereby  closing 
them,  and  crushing  their  edges  ; — and,  if  one  part 
of  its  substance  be  softer,  at  the  given  temperature, 
than  another,  probably  squeezing  that  softer  sub- 
stance out  into  the  veins.  Then  the  veins  them- 
selves, when  the  rock  leaves  them  open  by  its  con- 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  I9I 

traction,  act  with  various  power  of  suction  upon 
its  substance  ; — by  capillary  attraction  when  they 
are  fine, — by  that  of  pure  vacuity  when  they  are 
larger,  or  by  changes  in  the  constitution  and  con- 
densation of  the  mixed  gases  with  which  they  have 
been  originally  filled.  Those  gases  themselves 
may  be  supplied  in  all  variation  of  volume  and 
power  from  below  ;  or,  slowly,  by  the  decomposi- 
tion of  the  rocks  themselves  ;  and,  at  changing 
temperatures,  must  exert  relatively  changing  forces 
of  decomposition  and  combination  on  the  walls  of 
the  veins  they  fill ;  while  water,  at  every  degree  of 
heat  and  pressure  (from  peds  of  everlasting  ice, 
alternate  with  cliffs  of  native  rock,  to  volumes  of 
red  hot,  or  white  hot,  steam),  congeals,  and  drips, 
and  throbs,  and  thrills,  from  crag  to  crag ;  and 
breathes  from  pulse  to  pulse  of  foaming  or  fiery 
arteries,  whose  beating  is  felt  through  chains  of  tiie 
great  islands  of  the  Indian  seas,  as  your  own  pulses 
lift  your  bracelets,  and  makes  whole  kingdoms  of 
the  world  quiver  in  deadly  earthquake,  as  if  they 
were  light  as  aspen  leaves.  And,  remember,  the 
poor  little  crystals  have  to  live  their  lives,  and 
mind  their  own  affairs,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  as 
best  they  may.  They  are  wonderfully  like  human 
creatures, — forget  all  that  is  going  on  if  they  don't 
see  it,  however  dreadful  ;  and  never  think  what  is 
to  happen  to-morrow.  They  are  spiteful  or  loving, 
and  indolent  or  painstaking,  and  orderly  or  licen- 


192  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

tious,  with  no  thought  whatever  of  the  lava  or  the 
flood  which  may  break  over  them  any  day  ;  and 
evaporate  them  into  air-bubbles,  or  wash  them 
into  a  solution  of  salts.  And  you  may  look  at 
them,  once  understanding  the  surrounding  con- 
ditions of  their  fate,  with  an  endless  interest. 
You  will  see  crowds  of  unfortunate  little  crystals, 
who  have  been  forced  to  constitute  themselves  in 
a  hurry,  their  dissolving  element  being  fiercely 
scorched  away ;  you  will  see  ihem  doing  their  best, 
bright  and  numberless,  but  tiny.  Then  you  will 
find  indulged  crystals,  who  have  had  centuries  to 
form  themselves  in,  and  have  changed  their  mind 
and  ways  continually  ;  and  have  been  tired,  and 
taken  heart  again  ;  and  have  been  sick,  and  got 
well  again  ;  and  thought  they  would  try  a  different 
diet,  and  then  thought  better  of  it  ;  and  made  but 
a  poor  use  of  their  advantages,  after  all.  And 
others  you  will  see,  who  have  begun  life  as  wicked 
crystals  ;  and  then  have  been  impressed  by  alarm- 
ing circumstances,  and  have  become  converted 
crystals,  and  behaved  amazingly  for  a  little  while, 
and  fallen  away  again,  and  ended,  but  discredit- 
ably, perhaps  even  in  decomposition;  so  that  one 
doesn't  know  what  will  become  of  them.  And 
sometimes  you  will  see  deceitful  crystals,  that 
look  as  soft  as  velvet,  and  are  deadly  to  all 
near  them  ;  and  sometimes  you  will  see  deceitful 
crystals,  that  seem  flint-edged,  like  our  little  quartz- 


CRYSTAL   SORROWS.  193 

crystal  of  a  housekeeper  here,  (hush!  Dora,)  and 
are  endlessly  gentle  and  true  wherever  gentleness 
and  truth  are  needed.  And  sometimes  you  will 
see  little  child-crystals  put  to  school  like  school- 
girls, and  made  to  stand  in  rows  ;  and  taken  the 
greatest  care  of,  and  taught  how  to  hold  them- 
selves up,  and  behave  :  and  sometimes  you  will 
see  unhappy  little  child-crystals  left  to  lie  about  in 
the  dirt,  and  pick  up  their  living,  and  learn  man- 
ners, where  they  can.  And  sometimes  you  will 
see  fat  crystals  eating  up  thin  ones,  like  great 
capitalists  and  little  labourers  ;  and  politico-econ- 
omic crystals  teaching  the  stupid  ones  how  to  eat 
each  other,  and  cheat  each  other  ;  and  foolish  crys- 
tals getting  in  the  way  of  wise  ones  ;  and  impa- 
tient crystals  spoiling  the  plans  of  patient  ones,  irre- 
parably ;  just  as  things  go  on  in  the  world.  And 
sometimes  you  may  see  hypocritical  crystals  taking 
the  shape  of  others,  though  they  are  nothing  like  in 
their  minds  ;  and  vampire  crystals  eating  out  the 
hearts  of  others ;  and  hermit-crab  crystals  living 
in  the  shells  of  others  ;  and  parasite  crystals  living 
on  the  means  of  others  ;  and  courtier  crystals  glit- 
tering in  attendance  upon  others ;  and  all  these, 
besides  the  two  great  companies  of  war  and  peace, 
who  ally  themselves,  resolutely  to  attack,  or  reso- 
lutely to  defend.  And  for  the  close,  you  see  the 
broad  shadow  and  deadly  force  of  inevitable  fate, 
above  all  this  :  you  see  the  multitudes  of  crystals 


194  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

whose  time  has  come  ;  not  a  set  time,  as  with  us, 
but  yet  a  time,  sooner  or  later,  when  they  all 
must  give  up  their  crystal  ghosts  : — when  the 
strength  by  which  they  grew,  and  the  breath  given 
them  to  breathe,  pass  away  from  them  ;  and  they 
fail,  and  are  consumed,  and  vanish  away  ;  and 
another  generation  is  brought  to  life,  framed  out 
of  their  ashes. 

Mary.  It  is  very  terrible.  Is  it  not  the  com- 
plete fulfilment,  down  into  the  very  dust,  of  that 
verse  :  '  The  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth 
in  pain '  ? 

L.  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  in  pain,  Mary  :  at 
least,  the  evidence  tends  to  show  that  there  is 
much  more  pleasure  than  pain,  as  soon  as  sensa- 
tion becomes  possible. 

LuciLLA.  But  then,  surely,  if  we  are  told  that 
it  is  pain,  it  must  be  pain  ? 

L.  Yes  ;  if  we  are  told  ;  and  told  in  the  way 
you  mean,  Lucilla  ;  but  nothing  is  said  of  the 
proportion  to  pleasure.  Unmitigated  pain  would 
kill  any  of  us  in  a  few  hours  ;  pain  equal  to  our 
pleasures  would  make  us  loathe  life  ;  the  word  it- 
self cannot  be  applied  to  the  lower  conditions  of 
matter  in  its  ordinary  sense.  But  wait  till  to- 
morrow to  ask  me  about  this.  To-morrow  is  to 
be  kept  for  questions  and  difficulties ;  let  us  keep 
to  the  plain  facts  to-day.  There  is  yet  one  group 
of  facts  connected  with  this  rending  of  the  rocks. 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS.  I95 

which  I  especially  want  you  to  notice.  You 
know,  when  you  have  mended  a  very  old  dress, 
quite  meritoriously,  till  it  won't  mend  any  more 

Egypt  {interrupting).  Could  not  you  sometimes 
take  gentlemen's  work  to  illustrate  by  ? 

L.  Gentlemen's  work  is  rarely  so  useful  as  yours, 
Egypt ;  and  when  it  is  useful,  girls  cannot  easily 
understand  it, 

Dora.  I  am  sure  we  should  understand  it  better 
than  gentlemen  understand  about  sewing. 

L,  My  dear,  I  hope  I  always  speak  modestly, 
and  under  correction,  when  I  touch  upon  matters 
of  the  kind  too  high  for  me  ;  and  besides,  I  never 
intend  to  speak  otherwise  than  respectfully  of  sew- 
ing ; — though  you  always  seem  to  think  I  am 
laughing  at  you.  In  all  seriousness,  illustrations 
from  sewing  are  those  which  Neith  likes  me  best 
to  use  ;  and  which  young  ladies  ought  to  like 
everybody  to  use.  What  do  you  think  the  beauti- 
ful word  '  wife  '  comes  from  ? 

Dora  {tossing  her  head).  I  don't  think  it  is  a 
particularly  beautiful  word. 

L.  Perhaps  not.  At  your  ages  you  may  think 
*  bride '  sounds  better ;  but  wife's  the  word  for 
wear,  depend  upon  it.  It  is  the  great  word  in 
which  the  English  and  Latin  languages  conquer 
the  French  and  the  Greek.  I  hope  the  French 
will  some  day  get  a  word  for  it,  yet,  instead  of 


196  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

their  dreadful  '  femme. '  But  what  do  you  think 
it  comes  from  ? 

Dora.   I  never  did  think  about  it. 

L,   Nor  you,  Sibyl .? 

Sibyl.  No  ;  I  thought  it  was  Saxon,  and  stopped 
there. 

L.  Yes  ;  but  the  great  good  of  Saxon  words  is, 
that  they  usually  do  mean  something.  Wife 
means  'weaver.'  You  have  all  the  right  to  call 
yourselves  little  'housewives,'  when  you  sew 
neatly. 

Dora.  But  I  don't  think  we  want  to  call  our- 
selves '  little  housewives. ' 

L.  You  must  either  be  house- Wives,  or  house- 
Moths  ;  remember  that.  In  the  deep  sense,  you 
must  either  weave  men's  fortunes,  and  embroider 
them  ;  or  feed  upon,  and  bring  them  to  decay. 
You  had  better  let  me  keep  my  sewing  illustration, 
and  help  me  out  with  it. 

Dora.  Well,  we'll  hear  it,  under  protest. 

L.  You  have  heard  it  before  ;  but  with  refer- 
ence to  other  matters.  When  it  is  said,  '  no  man 
putteth  a  piece  of  new  cloth  on  an  old  garment, 
else  it  taketh  from  the  old,'  does  it  not  mean  that 
the  new  piece  tears  the  old  one  away  at  the  sewn 
edge .? 

Dora.   Yes ;  certainly. 

L.  And  when  you  mend  a  decayed  stuflF  with 


CRYSTAL   SORROWS.  1 9/ 

Strong  thread,  does  not  the  whole  edge  come  away 
sometimes,  when  it  tears  again  ? 

Dora,  Yes ;  and  then  it  is  of  no  use  to  mend  it 
any  more. 

L.  Well,  the  rocks  don't  seem  to  think  that : 
but  the  same  thing  happens  to  them  continually. 
I  told  you  they  were  full  of  rents,  or  veins.  Large 
masses  of  mountain  are  sometimes  as  full  of  veins 
as  your  hand  is  ;  and  of  veins  nearly  as  fine  (only 
you  know  a  rock  vein  does  not  mean  a  tube,  but 
a  crack  or  cleft).  Now  these  clefts  are  mended, 
usually,  with  the  strongest  material  the  rock  can 
find  ;  and  often  literally  with  threads ;  for  the 
gradually  opening  rent  seems  to  draw  the  sub- 
stance it  is  filled  with  into  fibres,  which  cross  from 
one  side  of  it  to  the  other,  and  are  partly  crystal- 
line ;  so  that,  when  the  crystals  become  distinct, 
the  fissure  has  often  exactly  the  look  of  a  tear, 
brought  together  with  strong  cross  stitches.  Now 
when  this  is  completely  done,  and  all  has  been 
fastened  and  made  firm,  perhaps  some  new  change 
of  temperature  may  occur,  and  the  rock  begin  to 
contract  again.  Then  the  old  vein  must  open 
wider ;  or  else  another  open  elsewhere.  If  the 
old  vein  widen,  it  may  do  so  at  its  centre  ;  but 
it  constantly  happens,  with  well  filled  veins,  that 
the  cross  stitches  are  too  strong  to  break ;  the 
walls  of  the  vein,  instead,  are  torn  away  by  them  ; 
and  another  little  supplementary  vein — often  three 


198  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE   DUST. 

or  four  successively — will  be  thus  formed  at  the 
side  of  the  first. 

Mary.  That  is  really  very  much  like  our  work. 
But  what  do  the  mountains  use  to  sew  with } 

L.  Quartz,  whenever  they  can  get  it  :  pure 
limestones  are  obliged  to  be  content  with  carbon- 
ate of  lime  ;  but  most  mixed  rocks  can  find  some 
quartz  for  themselves.  Here  is  a  piece  of  black 
slate  from  the  Buet  :  it  looks  merely  like  dry  dark 
mud  ; — you  could  not  think  there  was  any  quartz 
in  it ;  but,  you  see,  its  rents  are  all  stitched  to- 
gether with  beautiful  white  thread,  which  is  the 
purest  quartz,  so  close  drawn  that  you  can  break 
it  like  flint,  in  the  mass  ;  but,  where  it  has  been 
exposed  to  the  weather,  the  fine  fibrous  structure 
is  shown  :  and,  more  than  that,  you  see  the  threads 
have  been  all  twisted  and  pulled  aside,  this  way 
and  the  other,  by  the  warpings  and  shifting  of  the 
sides  of  the  vein  as  it  widened. 

Mary.  It  is  wonderful  !  But  is  that  going  on 
still  .^  Are  the  mountains  being  torn  and  sewn  to- 
gether again  at  this  moment .'' 

L.  Yes,  certainly,  my  dear :  but  I  think,  just  as 
certainly  (though  geologists  differ  on  this  matter), 
not  with  the  violence,  or  on  the  scale,  of  their 
ancient  ruin  and  renewal.  All  things  seem  to  be 
tending  towards  a  condition  of  at  least  temporary 
rest ;  and  that  groaning  and  travailing  of  the  crea- 


i 


CRYSTAL    SORROWS,  1 99 

tion,  as,  assuredly,  not  wholly  in  pain,  is  not,  in 
the  full  sense,  'until  now.' 

Mary.   I  want  so  much  to  ask  you  about  that  \ 

Sibyl.  Yes  ;  and  we  all  want  to  ask  you  about 
a  great  many  other  things  besides. 

L.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  got  quite  as 
many  new  ideas  as  are  good  for  any  of  you  at  pres- 
ent :  and  I  should  not  like  to  burden  you  with 
more ;  but  I  must  see  that  those  you.  have  are 
clear,  if  I  can  make  them  so ;  so  we  will  have  one 
more  talk,  for  answer  of  questions,  mainly. 
Think  over  all  the  ground,  and  make  your  difficul- 
ties thoroughly  presentable.  Then  we'll  see  what 
we  can  make  of  them. 

Dora.  They  shall  all  be  dressed  in  their  very 
best ;  and  curtsey  as  they  come  in. 

L.  No,  no,  Dora;  no  curtseys,  if  you  please. 
I  had  enough  of  them  the  day  you  all  took  a  fit  of 
reverence,  and  curtsied  me  out  of  the  room. 

Dora.  But,  you  know,  we  cured  ourselves  of 
the  fault,  at  once,  by  that  fit.  We  have  never  been 
the  least  respectful  since.  And  the  difficulties  will 
only  curtsey  themselves  out  of  the  room,  I  hope  ; 
— come  in  at  one  door — vanish  at  the  other. 

L.  What  a  pleasant  world  it  would  be,  if  all  its 
difficulties  were  taught  to  behave  so  !  However, 
one  can  generally  make  something,  or  (better 
still)  nothing,  or  at  least  less,  of  them,  if  they  thor- 
oughly know  their  own  minds  ;  and  your  difficul- 


200 


THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 


ties — I  must  say  that  for  you,  children, — gener- 
ally do  know  their  own  minds,  as  you  do  your- 
selves. 

Dora.  That  is  very  kindly  said  for  us.  Some 
people  would  not  allow  so  much  as  that  girls  had 
any  minds  to  know. 

L.  They  will  at  least  admit  that  you  have  minds 
to  change,  Dora. 

Mary.  .  You  might  have  left  us  the  last  speech, 
without  a  retouch.  But  we'll  put  our  little  minds, 
such  as  they  are,  in  the  best  trim  we  can,  for  to- 
morrow. 


Cectnre  10. 
THE  CRYSTAL  REST. 


LECTURE  X. 

THE  CRYSTAL  REST. 

Evening.       The  fireside.       L.'s   arm-chair  in   the 
comfortablest  corner. 

L.  [perceiving  various  arrangements  being  made 
of  footstool,  cushion,  screen,  and  the  like.)  Yes, 
yes,  it's  all  very  fine  !  and  I  am  to  sit  here  to  be 
asked  questions  till  supper-time,  am  I  ? 

Dora.  I  don't  think  you  can  have  any  supper 
to-night  : — we've  got  so  much  to  ask. 

Lily.  Oh,  Miss  Dora  !  We  can  fetch  it  him  here, 
you  know,  so  nicely  ! 

L.  Yes,  Lily,  that  will  be  pleasant,  with  com- 
petitive examination  going  on  over  one's  plate  : 
the  competition  being  among  the  examiners. 
Really,  now  that  I  know  what  teasing  things  girls 
are,  I  don't  so  much  wonder  that  people  used  to 
put  up  patiently  with  the  dragons  who  took  them 
for  supper.  But  I  can't  help  myself,  I  suppose  ; 
— no  thanks  to  St.  George.  Ask  away,  children, 
and  I'll  answer  as  civilly  as  may  be. 

Dora.   We  don't   so   much   care   about   being 

203 


204  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

answered  civilly,  as  about  not  being  asked  things 
back  again. 

L.  '  Ayez  seulement  la  patience  que  je  le  parle.  * 
There  shall  be  no  requitals. 

Dora.  Well,  then,  first  of  all — ^What  shall  we 
ask  first,  Mary  ? 

Mary,  It  does  not  matter.  I  think  all  the  ques- 
tions come  into  one,  at  last,  nearly, 

Dora.  You  know,  you  always  talk  as  if  the 
crystals  were  alive ;  and  we  never  understand  how 
much  you  are  in  play,  and  how  much  in  earnest. 
That's  the  first  thing. 

L.  Neither  do  I  understand,  myself,  my  dear, 
how  much  I  am  in  earnest.  The  stones  puzzle  me 
as  much  as  I  puzzle  you.  They  look  as  if  they 
were  alive,  and  make  me  speak  as  if  they  were  ; 
and  I  do  not  in  the  least  know  how  much  truth 
there  is  in  the  appearance.  I'm  not  to  ask  things 
back  again  to-night,  but  all  questions  of  this  sort 
lead  necessarily  to  the  one  main  question,  which 
we  asked,  before,  in  vain,  '  What  is  it  to  be  alive  ?' 

Dora.  Yes  ;  but  we  want  to  come  back  to  that  : 
for  we've  been  reading  scientific  books  about  the 
'conservation  offerees,'  and  it  seems  all  so  grand, 
and  wonderful ;  and  the  experiments  are  so 
pretty  ;  and  I  suppose  it  must  be  all  right :  but 
then  the  books  never  speak  as  if  there  were  any 
such  thing  as  '  life.' 

L.  They  mostly  omit  that  part  of  the  subject. 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  205 

certainly,  Dora ;  but  they  are  beautifully  right  as 
far  as  they  go  ;  and  life  is  not  a  convenient  ele- 
ment to  deal  with.  They  seem  to  have  been  get- 
ting some  of  it  into  and  out  of  bottles,  in  their 
*  ozone '  and  '  antizone '  lately  ;  but  they  still  know 
little  of  it :  and,  certainly,  I  know  less. 

Dora.  You  promised  not  to  be  provoking,  to- 
night. 

L.  Wait  a  minute.  Though,  quite  truly,  I 
know  less  of  the  secrets  of  life  than  the  philoso- 
phers do  ;  I  yet  know  one  corner  of  ground  on 
which  we  artists  can  stand,  literally  as  '  Life 
Guards'  at  bay,  as  steadily  as  the  Guards  at 
Inkermann  ;  however  hard  the  philosophers  push. 
And  you  may  stand  with  us,  if  once  you  learn  to 
draw  nicely. 

Dora.  I'm  sure  we  are  all  trying !  but  tell  us 
where  we  may  stand. 

L.  You  may  always  stand  by  Form,  against 
Force.  To  a  painter,  the  essential  character  of 
anything  is  the  form  of  it,  and  the  philosophers 
cannot  touch  that.  They  come  and  tell  you,  for 
instance,  that  there  is  as  much  heat,  or  motion,  or 
calorific  energy  (or  whatever  else  they  like  to  call 
it),  in  a  tea-kettle  as  in  a  Gier-eagle.  Very  good  ; 
that  is  so  ;  and  it  is  very  interesting.  It  requires 
just  as  much  heat  as  will  boil  the  kettle,  to  take 
the  Gier-eagle  up  to  his  nest ;  and  as  much  more 
to  bring  him  down  again  on  a  hare  or  a  partridge. 


2o6  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

But  we  painters,  acknowledging  the  equality  and 
similarity  of  the  kettle  and  the  bird  in  all  scientific 
respects,  attach,  for  our  part,  our  principal  interest 
to  the  difference  in  their  forms.  For  us,  the 
primarily  cognisable  facts,  in  the  two  things,  are, 
that  the  kettle  has  a  spout,  and  the  eagle  a  beak  ; 
the  one  a  lid  on  its  back,  the  other  a  pair  of 
wings ; — not  to  speak  of  the  distinction  also  of 
volition,  which  the  philosophers  may  properly 
call  merely  a  form  or  mode  of  force  ; — but  then, 
to  an  artist,  the  form,  or  mode,  is  the  gist  of  the 
business.  The  kettle  chooses  to  sit  still  on  the 
hob  ;  the  eagle  to  recline  on  the  air.  It  is  the 
fact  of  the  choice,  not  the  equal  degree  of  tem- 
perature in  the  fulfilment  of  it,  which  appears  to 
us  the  more  interesting  circumstance  ; — though  the 
other  is  very  interesting  too.  Exceedingly  so  ! 
Don't  laugh,  children ;  the  philosophers  have 
been  doing  quite  splendid  work  lately,  in  their 
own  way  :  especially,  the  transformation  of  force 
into  light  is  a  great  piece  of  systematised  dis- 
covery ;  and  this  notion  about  the  sun's  being 
supplied  with  his  flame  by  ceaseless  meteoric  hail 
is  grand,  and  looks  very  Hkely  to  be  true.  Of 
course,  it  is  only  the  old  gun-lock, — flint  and 
steel, — on  a  large  scale  :  but  the  order  and  maj- 
esty of  it  are  sublime.  Still,  we  sculptors  and 
painters  care  little  about  it.  'It  is  very  fine,'  we 
say,  '  and  very  useful,  this  knocking  the  light  out 


THE   CRYSTAL   REST.  20/ 

of  the  sun,  or  into  it,  by  an  eternal  cataract  of 
planets.  But  you  may  hail  away,  so,  for  ever,  and 
you  will  not  knock  out  what  we  can.  Here  is  a 
bit  of  silver,  not  the  size  of  half-a-crown,  on 
which,  with  a  single  hammer  stroke,  one  of  us, 
two  thousand  and  odd  years  ago,  hit  out  the  head 
of  the  Apollo  of  Clazomense.  It  is  merely  a  mat- 
ter of  form  ;  but  if  any  of  you  philosophers,  with 
your  whole  planetary  system  to  hammer  with,  can 
hit  out  such  another  bit  of  silver  as  this, — we  will 
take  off  our  hats  to  you.  For  the  present,  we 
keep  them  on.' 

Mary.  Yes,  I  understand ;  and  that  is  nice ; 
but  I  don't  think  we  shall  any  of  us  like  having 
only  form  to  depend  upon. 

L.  It  was  not  neglected  in  the  making  of  Eve, 
my  dear. 

Mary.  It  does  not  seem  to  separate  us  from 
the  dust  of  the  ground.  It  is  that  breathing  of  the 
life  which  we  want  to  understand. 

L.  So  you  should  :  but  hold  fast  to  the  form, 
and  defend  that  first,  as  distinguished  from  the 
mere  transition  of  forces.  Discern  the  moulding 
hand  of  the  potter  commanding  the  clay,  from  his 
merely  beating  foot,  as  it  turns  the  wheel.  If  you 
can  find  incense,  in  the  vase,  afterwards, — well : 
but  it  is  curious  how  far  mere  form  will  carry  you 
ahead  of  the  philosophers.  For  instance,  vvith  re- 
gard to  the  most  interesting  of  all  their  modes  of 


208  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

force — light ; — they  never  consider  how  far  the 
existence  of  it  depends  on  the  putting  of  certain 
vitreous  and  nervous  substances  into  the  formal 
arrangement  which  we  call  an  eye.  The  German 
philosophers  began  the  attack,  long  ago,  on  the 
other  side,  by  telling  us,  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  light  at  all,  unless  we  chose  to  see  it :  now, 
German  and  English,  both,  have  reversed  their 
engines,  and  insist  that  light  would  be  exactly  the 
same  light  that  it  is,  though  nobody  could  ever 
see  it.  The  fact  being  that  the  force  must  be 
there,  and  the  eyes  there;  and  Might'  means  the 
effect  of  the  one  on  the  other ; — and  perhaps,  also 
— (Plato  saw  farther  into  that  mystery  than  any 
one  has  since,  that  I  know  of), — on  something  a 
little  way  within  the  eyes  ;  but  we  may  stand  quite 
safe,  close  behind  the  retina,  and  defy  the  philoso- 
phers. 

Sibyl.  But  I  don't  care  so  much  about  defying 
the  philosophers,  if  only  one  could  get  a  clear  idea 
of  life,  or  soul,  for  one's  self 

L.  Well,  Sibyl,  you  used  to  know  more  about 
it,  in  that  cave  of  yours,  than  any  of  us.  I  was 
just  going  to  ask  you  about  inspiration,  and  the 
golden  bough,  and  the  like  ;  only  I  remembered 
I  was  not  to  ask  anything.  But,  will  not  you,  at 
least,  tell  us  whether  the  ideas  of  Life,  as  the 
power  of  putting  things  together,  or  'making' 
them  ;    and  of  Death,    as  the  power  of  pushing 


THE    CRYSTAL  REST.  209 

things  separate,  or  'unmaking'  them,  may  not  be 
very  simply  held  in  balance  against  each  other? 

Sibyl.  No,  I  am  not  in  my  cave  to-night ;  and 
cannot  tell  you  anything. 

L.  I  think  they  may.  Modern  Philosophy  is  a 
great  separator ;  it  is  little  more  than  the  expan- 
sion of  Moliere's  great  sentence,  'II  s'ensuit  de  la, 
que  tout  ce  qu'il  y  a  de  beau  est  dans  les  diction- 
naires  ;  il  n'y  a  que  les  mots  qui  sont  transposes.' 
But  when  you  used  to  be  in  your  cave,  Sibyl,  and 
to  be  inspired,  there  was  (and  there  remains  still 
in  some  small  measure),  beyond  the  merely  for- 
mative and  sustaining  power,  another,  which  we 
painters  call  'passion' — I  don't  know  what  the 
philosophers  call  it ;  we  know  it  makes  people 
red,  or  white  ;  and  therefore  it  must  be  something, 
itself ;  and  perhaps  it  is  the  most  truly  '  poetic  "  or 
'making'  force  of  all,  creating  a  world  of  its  own 
out  of  a  glance,  or  a  sigh  :  and  the  want  of  pas- 
sion is  perhaps  the  truest  death,  or  'unmaking'  of 
everything ; — even  of  stones.  By  the  way,  you 
were  all  reading  about  that  ascent  of  the  Aiguille 
Verte,  the  other  day  ? 

Sybil.  Because  you  had  told  us  it  was  so  diffi- 
cult, you  thought  it  could  not  be  ascended. 

L.  Yes  ;  I  believed  the  Aiguille  Verte  would 
have  held  its  own.  But  do  you  recollect  what 
one  of  the  climbers  exclaimed,  when  he  first  felt 
sure  of  reachino:  the  summit. 


2IO  THE   ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Sybil.  Yes,  it  was,  'Oh,  Aiguille  Verte,  vous 
etes  morte,  vous  etes  morte  !' 

L.  That  was  true  instinct.  Real  philosophic 
joy.  Now  can  you  at  all  fancy  the  difference  be- 
tween that  feeling  of  triumph  in  a  mountain's 
death ;  and  the  exultation  of  your  beloved  poet, 
in  its  life — 

'Quantus  Athos.  aut  quantus  Eryx,  aut  ipse  coruscis 
Quum  fremit  ilicibus  quantus,  gaudetque  nivali 
Venice,  se  attollens  pater  Apenninus  ad  auras.' 

Dora.  You  must  translate  for  us  mere  house- 
keepers, please — whatever  the  cave-keepers  may 
know  about  it. 

Mary.   Will  Dryden  do.? 

L.  No.  Dryden  is  a  far  way  worse  than  noth- 
ing, and  nobody  will  'do.'  You  can't  translate 
it.  But  this  is  all  you  need  know,  that  the  lines 
are  full  of  a  passionate  sense  of  the  Apennines' 
fatherhood,  or  protecting  power  over  Italy ;  and 
of  sympathy  with  their  joy  in  their  snowy  strength 
in  heaven ;  and  with  the  same  joy,  shuddering 
through  all  the  leaves  of  their  forests. 

Mary.  Yes,  that  is  a  difference  indeed !  but 
then,  you  know,  one  can't  help  feeling  that  it  is 
fanciful.  It  is  very  delightful  to  imagine  the 
mountains  to  be  alive  ;  but  then, — are  they  alive  ? 

L.  It  seems  to  me,  on  the  whole,  Mary,  that 
the  feelings  of  the  purest  and  most  mightily  pas- 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  211 

sioned  human  souls  are  likely  to  be  the  truest. 
Not,  indeed,  if  they  do  not  desire  to  know  the 
truth,  or  blind  themselves  to  it  that  they  may 
please  themselves  with  passion  ;  for  then  they  are 
no  longer  pure :  but  if,  continually  seeking  and 
accepting  the  truth  as  far  as  it  is  discernible,  they 
trust  their  Maker  for  the  integrity  of  the  instincts 
He  has  gifted  them  with,  and  rest  in  the  sense  of  a 
higher  truth  which  they  cannot  demonstrate,  I 
think  they  will  be  most  in  the  right,  so. 

Dora  and  Jessie  {clapping  their  hands).  Then 
we  really  may  believe  that  the  mountains  are 
living  ? 

L.  You  may  at  least  earnestly  believe,  that  the 
presence  of  the  spirit  which  culminates  in  your 
own  life,  shows  itself  in  dawning,  wherever  the 
dust  of  the  earth  begins  to  assume  any  orderly 
and  lovely  state.  You  will  find  it  impossible  to 
separate  this  idea  of  gradated  manifestation  from 
that  of  the  vital  power.  Things  are  not  either 
wholly  alive,  or  wholly  dead.  They  are  less  or 
more  alive.  Take  the  nearest,  most  easily  exam- 
ined instance — the  life  of  a  flower.  Notice  what 
a  different  degree  and  kind  of  life  there  is  in  the 
calyx  and  the  corolla.  The -calyx  is  nothing  but 
the  swaddling  clothes  of  the  flower  ;  the  child- 
blossom  is  bound  up  in  it,  hand  and  foot  ; 
guarded  in  it,  restrained  by  it,  till  the  time  of 
birth.     The  shell  is  hardly  more  subordinate  to 


212  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

the  germ  in  the  t%%,  than  the  calyx  to  the  blossom. 
It  bursts  at  last ;  but  it  never  lives  as  the  corolla 
does.  It  may  fall  at  the  moment  its  task  is  ful- 
filled, as  in  the  poppy ;  or  wither  gradually,  as  in 
the  buttercup  ;  or  persist  in  a  ligneous  apathy, 
after  the  flovper  is  dead,  as  in  the  rose ;  or  har- 
monise itself  so  as  to  share  in  the  aspect  of  the 
real  flower,  as  in  the  lily ;  but  it  never  shares  in 
the  corolla's  bright  passion  of  life.  And  the  gra- 
dations which  thus  exist  between  the  different 
members  of  organic  creatures,  exist  no  less  be- 
tween the  different  ranges  of  organism.  We  know 
no  higher  or  more  energetic  life  than  our  own  ; 
but  there  seems  to  me  this  great  good  in  the  idea 
of  gradation  of  life — it  admits  the  idea  of  a  life 
above  us,  in  other  creatures,  as  much  nobler  than 
ours,  as  ours  is  nobler  than  that  of  the  dust. 

Mary.  I  am  glad  you  have  said  that;  for  I 
know  Violet  and  Lucilla  and  May  want  to  ask 
you  something;  indeed,  we  all  do;  only  you 
frightened  Violet  so  about  the  ant-hill,  that  she 
can't  say  a  word  ;  and  May  is  afraid  of  your  teas- 
ing her,  too  :  but  I  know  they  are  wondering  why 
you  are  always  telling  them  about  heathen  gods 
and  goddesses,  as  if  you  half  believed  in  them  ; 
and  you  represent  them  as  good  ;  and  then  we  see 
there  is  really  a  kind  of  truth  in  the  stories  about 
them  ;  and  we  are  all  puzzled  :  and,  in  this,  we 
cannot   even  make  our  difficulty  quite  clear  to 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  21$ 

ourselves  ; — it  would  be  such  a  long  confused 
question,  if  we  could  ask  you  all  we  should  like 
to  know. 

L.  Nor  is  it  any  wonder,  Mary;  for  this  is 
indeed  the  longest,  and  the  most  wildly  confused 
question  that  reason  can  deal  with  ;  but  I  will  try 
to  give  you,  quickly,  a  few  clear  ideas  about  the 
heathen  gods,  which  you  may  follow  out  after- 
wards, as  your  knowledge  increases. 

Every  heathen  conception  of  deity  in  which  you 
are  likely  to  be  interested,  has  three  distinct  char- 
acters : — 

I.  It  has  a  physical  character.  It  represents 
some  of  the  great  powers  or  objects  of  nature — sun 
or  moon,  or  heaven,  or  the  winds,  or  the  sea.  And 
the  fables  first  related  about  each  deity  represent, 
figuratively,  the  action  of  the  natural  power  which 
it  represents  ;  such  as  the  rising  and  setting  of  the 
sun,  the  tides  of  the  sea,  and  so  on. 

II.  It  has  an  ethical  character,  and  represents, 
in  its  history,  the  moral  dealings  of  God  with 
man.  Thus  Apollo  is  first,  physically,  the  sun 
contending  with  darkness  ;  but  morally,  the  power 
of  divine  life  contending  with  corruption.  Athena 
is,  physically,  the  air ;  morally,  the  breathing  of 
the  divine  spirit  of  wisdom.  Neptune  is,  physi- 
cally, the  sea ;  morally,  the  supreme  power  of 
agitating  passion  ;  and  so  on. 

III.  It  has,  at  last,  a  personal  character  ;  and  is 


214  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

realised  in  the  minds  of  its  worshippers  as  a  living 
spirit,  with  whom  men  may  speak  face  to  face,  as 
a  man  speaks  to  his  friend. 

Now  it  is  impossible  to  define  exactly,  how  far, 
at  any  period  of  a  national  religion,  these  three 
ideas  are  mingled  ;  or  how  far  one  prevails  over 
the  other.  Each  enquirer  usually  takes  up  one 
of  these  ideas,  and  pursues  it,  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  others  :  no  impartial  effort  seems  to  have  been 
made  to  discern  the  real  state  of  the  heathen  im- 
agination in  its  successive  phases.  For  the  ques- 
tion is  not  at  all  what  a  mythological  figure  meant 
in  its  origin ;  but  what  it  became  in  each  subse- 
quent mental  development  of  the  nation  inherit- 
ing the  thought.  Exactly  in  proportion  to  the 
mental  and  moral  insight  of  any  race,  its  mytho- 
logical figures  mean  more  to  it,  and  become  more 
real.  An  early  and  savage  race  means  nothing 
more  (because  it  has  nothing  more  to  mean)  by 
its  Apollo,  than  the  sun ;  while  a  cultivated  Greek 
means  every  operation  of  divine  intellect  and  jus- 
tice. The  Neith,  of  Egypt,  meant,  physically, 
little  more  than  the  blue  of  the  air;  but  the  Greek, 
in  a  climate  of  alternate  storm  and  calm,  repre- 
sented the  wild  fringes  of  the  storm-cloud  by  the 
serpents  of  her  aegis  ;  and  the  lightning  and  cold 
of  the  highest  thunder-clouds,  by  the  Gorgon  on 
her  shield  :  while  morally,  the  same  types  repre- 
sented to  him  the  mystery  and  changeful  terror  of 


THE    CRYSTAL   REST.  21^ 

knowledge,  as  her  spear  and  helm  its  ruling  and 
defensive  power.  And  no  study  can  be  more  in- 
teresting, or  more  useful  to  you,  than  that  of  the 
different  meanings  which  have  been  created  by 
great  nations,  and  great  poets,  out  of  mythological 
figures  given  them,  at  first,  in  utter  simplicity. 
But  when  we  approach  them  in  their  third,  or 
personal,  character  (and,  for  its  power  over  the 
whole  national  mind,  this  is  far  the  leading  one), 
we  are  met  at  once  by  questions  which  may  well 
put  all  of  you  at  pause.  Were  they  idly  imagined 
to  be  real  beings.?  and  did  they  so  usurp  the  place 
of  the  true  God?  Or  were  they  actually  real 
beings, — evil  spirits, — leading  men  away  from  the 
true  God?  Or  is  it  conceivable  that  they  might 
have  been  real  beings, — good  spirits, — entrusted 
with  some  message  from  the  true  God?  These 
were  the  questions  you  wanted  to  ask  ;  were  they 
not,  Lucilla  ? 

LuciLLA.  Yes,  indeed. 

L.  Well,  Lucilla,  the  answer  will  much  depend 
upon  the  clearness  of  your  faith  in  the  personality 
of  the  spirits  which  are  described  in  the  book  of 
your  own  religion  ; — their  personality,  observe, 
as  distinguished  from  merely  symbolical  visions. 
For  instance,  when  Jeremiah  has  the  vision  of  the 
seething  pot  with  its  mouth  to  the  north,  you 
know  that  this  which  he  sees  is  not  a  real  thing ; 
but    merely   a    significant    dream.      Also,   when 


2l6  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Zechariah  sees  the  speckled  horses  among  the 
myrtle  trees  in  the  bottom,  you  still  may  suppose 
the  vision  symbolical ; — you  do  not  think  of  them 
as  real  spirits,  like  Pegasus,  seen  in  the  form  of 
horses.  But  when  you  are  told  of  the  four  riders 
in  the  Apocalypse,  a  distinct  sense  of  personality 
begins  to  force  itself  upon  you.  And  though  you 
might,  in  a  dull  temper,  think  that  (for  one  in- 
stance of  all)  the  fourth  rider  on  the  pale  horse 
was  merely  a  symbol  of  the  power  of  death, — in 
your  stronger  and  more  earnest  moods  you  will 
rather  conceive  of  him  as  a  real  and  living  angel. 
And  when  you  look  back  from  the  vision  of  the 
Apocalypse  to  the  account  of  the  destruction  of  the 
Egyptian  first-born,  and  of  the  army  of  Senna- 
cherib, and  again  to  David's  visiop  at  the  thresh- 
ing floor  of  Araunah,  the  idea  of  personality  in 
this  death-angel  becomes  entirely  defined,  just  as 
in  the  appearance  of  the  angels  to  Abraham, 
Manoah,  or  Mary. 

Now,  when  you  have  once  consented  to  this 
idea  of  a  personal  spirit,  must  not  the  question 
instantly  follow :  '  Does  this  spirit  exercise  its 
functions  towards  one  race  of  men  only,  or 
towards  all  men  ?  Was  it  an  angel  of  death  to  the 
Jew  only,  or  to  the  Gentile  also  ? '  You  find  a 
certain  Divine  agency  made  visible  to  a  King  of 
Israel,  as  an  armed  angel,  executing  vengeance, 
of  which  one   special  purpose  was  to  lower  his 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  21/ 

kingly  pride.  You  find  another  (or  perhaps  the 
same)  agency,  made  visible  to  a  Christian  prophet 
as  an  angel  standing  in  the  sun,  calling  to  the 
birds  that  fly  under  heaven  to  come,  that  they 
may  eat  the  flesh  of  kings.  Is  there  anything  im- 
pious in  the  thought  that  the  same  agency  might 
have  been  expressed  to  a  Greek  king,  or  Greek 
seer,  by  similar  visions } — that  this  figure,  stand- 
ing in  the  sun,  and  armed  with  the  sword,  or  the 
bow  (whose  arrows  were  drunk  with  blood),  and 
exercising  especially  its  power  in  the  humiliation 
of  the  proud,  might,  at  first,  have  been  called 
only  'Destroyer,'  and  afterwards,  as  the  light,  or 
sun,  of  justice,  was  recognised  in  the  chastisement, 
called  also  'Physician'  or  'Healer'.?  If  you  feel 
hesitation  in  admitting  the  possibility  of  such  a 
manifestation,  I  believe  you  will  find  it  is  caused, 
partly  indeed  by  such  trivial  things  as  the  differ- 
ence to  your  ear  between  Greek  and  English 
terms;  but,  far  more,  by  uncertainty  in  your  own 
mind  respecting  the  nature  and  truth  of  the  vis- 
ions spoken  of  in  the  Bible.  Have  any  of  you 
intently  examined  the  nature  of  your  belief  in 
them  'i  You,  for  instance,  Lucilla,  who  think 
often,  and  seriously,  of  such  things.? 

Lucilla.  No;  I  never  could  tell  what  to  believe 
about  them.  I  know  they  must  be  true  in  some 
way  or  other  ;  and  I  like  reading  about  them, 

L.   Yes  ;  and   I  like  reading  about  them  too, 


2l8  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

Lucilla ;  as  I  like  reading  other  grand  poetry. 
But,  surely,  we  ought  both  to  do  more  than  like 
it  ?  Will  God  be  satisfied  with  us,  think  you,  if  we 
read  His  words,  merely  for  the  sake  of  an  entirely 
meaningless  poetical  sensation  ? 

Lucilla.  But  do  not  the  people  who  give  them- 
selves to  seek  out  the  meaning  of  these  things, 
often  get  very  strange,  and  extravagant? 

L.  More  than  that,  Lucilla.  They  often  go 
mad.  That  abandonment  of  the  mind  to  religious 
theory,  or  contemplation,  is  the  very  thing  I  have 
been  pleading  with  you  against.  I  never  said  you 
should  set  yourself  to  discover  the  meanings  ;  but 
you  should  take  careful  pains  to  understand  them, 
so  far  as  they  are  clear  ;  and  you  should  always 
accurately  ascertain  the  state  of  your  mind  about 
them.  I  want  you  never  to  read  merely  for  the 
pleasure  of  fancy ;  still  less  as  a  formal  religious 
duty  (else  you  might  as  well  take  to  repeating 
Paters  at  once ;  for  it  is  surely  wiser  to  repeat  one 
thing  we  understand,  than  read  a  thousand  which 
we  cannot).  Either,  therefore,  acknowledge  the 
passages  to  be,  for  the  present,  unintelligible  to 
you  ;  or  else  determine  the  sense  in  which  you  at 
present  receive  them  ;  or,  at  all  events,  the  differ- 
ent senses  between  which  you  clearly  see  that  you 
must  choose.  Make  either  your  belief,  or  your 
difficulty,  definite  ;  but  do  not  go  on,  all  through 
your  life,  believing  nothing  intelligently,  and  yet 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  219 

supposing  that  your  having  read  the  words  of  a 
divine  book  must  give  you  the  right  to  despise 
every  reUgion  but  your  own.  I  assure  you,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  our  scorn  of  Greek  tradition  de- 
pends, not  on  our  belief,  but  our  disbelief,  of  our 
own  traditions.  We  have,  as  yet,  no  sufficient 
clue  to  the  meaning  of  either  ;  but  you  will  always 
find  that,  in  proportion  to  the  earnestness  of  our  own 
faith,  its  tendency  to  accept  a  spiritual  personality 
increases  :  and  that  the  most  vital  and  beautiful 
Christian  temper  rests  joyfully  in  its  conviction  of 
the  multitudinous  ministry  of  living  angels,  infi- 
nitely varied  in  rank  and  power.  You  all  know 
one  expression  of  the  purest  and  happiest  form  of 
such  faith,  as  it  exists  in  modern  times,  in  Rich- 
ter's  lovely  illustrations  of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  The 
real  and  living  death-angel,  girt  as  a  pilgrim  for 
journey,  and  softly  crowned  with  flowers,  beckons 
at  the  dying  mother's  door  ;  child-angels  sit  talk- 
ing face  to  face  with  mortal  children,  among  the 
flowers  ; — hold  them  by  their  little  coats,  lest  they 
fall  on  the  stairs ; — whisper  dreams  of  heaven  to 
them,  leaning  over  their  pillows  ;  carry  the  sound 
of  the  church  bells  for  them  far  through  the  air  ; 
and  even  descending  lower  in  service,  fill  little  cups 
with  honey,  to  hold  out  to  the  weary  bee.  By  the 
way,  Lily,  did  you  tell  the  other  children  that 
story  about  your  little  sister,  and  Alice,  and  the 
sea  ? 


220  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Lily.  I  told  it  to  Alice,  and  to  Miss  Dora.  I 
don't  think  I  did  to  anybody  else.  I  thought  it 
wasn't  worth. 

L.  We  shall  think  it  worth  a  great  deal  now, 
Lily,  if  you  will  tell  it  us.  How  old  is  Dotty,  again  ? 
I  forget. 

Lily.  She  is  not  quite  three ;  but  she  has  such 
odd  little  old  ways,  sometimes. 

L.  And  she  was  very  fond  of  Alice  ? 

Lily.   Yes  ;  Alice  was  so  good  to  her  always  ! 

L.  And  so  when  Alice  went  away  ? 

Lily.  Oh,  it  was  nothing,  you  know,  to  tell 
about ;  only  it  was  strange  at  the  time. 

L.  Well ;  but  I  want  you  to  tell  it. 

Lily.  The  morning  after  Alice  had  gone.  Dotty 
was  very  sad  and  restless  when  she  got  up ;  and 
went  about,  looking  into  all  the  corners,  as  if  she 
cou\d  find  Alice  in  them,  and  at  last  she  came  to 
me,  and  said,  'Is  Alie  gone  over  the  great  sea  .? ' 
And  I  said,  'Yes,  she  is  gone  over  the  great,  deep 
sea,  but  she  will  come  back  again  some  day.' 
Then  Dotty  looked  round  the  room  ;  and  I  had 
just  poured  some  water  out  into  the  basin  ;  and 
Dotty  ran  to  it,  and  got  up  on  a  chair,  and  dashed 
her  hands  through  the  water,  again  and  again  ; 
and  cried,  '  Oh,  deep,  deep  sea  !  send  little  Alie 
back  to  me.' 

L.  Isn't  that  pretty,  children  .?  There's  a  dear 
little  heathen  for  you  1     The  whole  heart  of  Greek 


THE    CRYSTAL   REST.  221 

mythology  is  in  that ;  the  idea  of  a  personal  being 
in  the  elemental  power  ; — of  its  being  moved  by 
prayer ; — and  of  its  presence  everywhere,  making 
the  broken  diffusion  of  the  element  sacred. 

Now,  remember,  the  measure  in  which  we  may 
permit  ourselves  to  think  of  this  trusted  and 
adored  personality,  in  Greek,  or  in  any  other, 
mythology,  as  conceivably  a  shadow  of  truth,  will 
depend  on  the  degree  in  which  we  hold  the  Greeks, 
or  other  great  nations,  equal,  or  inferior,  in  privi- 
lege and  character,  to  the  Jews,  or  to  ourselves. 
If  we  believe  that  the  great  Father  would  use  the 
imagination  of  the  Jew  as  an  instrument  by  which 
to  exalt  and  lead  him  ;  but  the  imagination  of  the 
Greek  only  to  degrade  and  mislead  him  :  if  we  can 
suppose  that  real  angels  were  sent  to  minister  to 
the  Jews  and  to  punish  them  ;  but  no  angels,  or 
only  mocking  spectra  of  angels,  or  even  devils  in 
the  shapes  of  angels,  to  lead  Lycurgus  and  Leoni- 
das  from  desolate  cradle  to  hopeless  grave  : — and 
if  we  can  think  that  it  was  only  the  influence  of 
spectres,  or  the  teaching  of  demons,  which  issued 
in  the  making  of  mothers  like  Cornelia,  and  of 
sons  like  Cleobis  and  Bito,  we  may,  of  course,  re- 
ject the  heathen  Mythology  in  our  privileged  scorn  : 
but,  at  least,  we  are  bound  to  examine  strictly  by 
what  faults  of  our  own  it  has  come  to  pass,  that  the 
ministry  of  real  angels  among  ourselves  is  occasion- 
ally so  ineifectual,  as  to  end  in  the  production  of 


222  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Cornelias  who  entrust  their  child-jewels  to  Char- 
lotte Winsors  for  the  better  keeping  of  them  ;  and 
of  sons  like  that  one  who,  the  other  day,  in  France, 
beat  his  mother  to  death  with  a  stick  ;  and  was 
brought  in  by  the  jury,  'guilty,  with  extenuating 
circumstances.' 

May.   Was  that  really  possible  ? 

L.  Yes,  my  dear.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can 
lay  my  hand  on  the  reference  to  it  (and  I  should 
not  have  said  'the  other  day' — it  was  a  year  or 
two  ago),  but  you  may  depend  on  the  fact ;  and 
I  could  give  you  many  like  it,  if  I  chose.  There 
was  a  murder  done  in  Russia,  very  lately,  on  a 
traveller.  The  murderess's  little  daughter  was 
in  the  way,  and  found  it  out,  somehow.  Her 
mother  killed  her,  too,  and  put  her  into  the 
oven.  There  is  a  peculiar  horror  about  the  rela- 
tions between  parent  and  child,  which  are  being 
now  brought  about  by  our  variously  degraded 
forms  of  European  white  slavery.  Here  is  one 
reference,  I  see,  in  my  notes  on  that  story  of 
Cleobis  and  Bito  ;  though  I  suppose  I  marked 
this  chiefly  for  its  quaintness,  and  the  beautifully 
Christian  names  of  the  sons  ;  but  it  is  a  good  in- 
stance of  the  power  of  the  King  of  the  Valley  of 
Diamonds*  among  us. 

In  'Galignani'  of  July  21-22,  1862,  is  reported 

*  Note  vi. 


THE    CRYSTAL  REST.  22$ 

a  trial  of  a  farmer's  son  in  the  department  of  the 
Yonne.  The  father,  two  years  ago,  at  Malay  le 
Grand,  gave  up  his  property  to  his  two  sons,  on 
condition  of  being  maintained  by  them.  Simon 
fulfilled  his  agreement,  but  Pierre  would  not.  The 
tribunal  of  Sens  condemns  Pierre  to  pay  eighty- 
four  francs  a  year  to  his  father.  Pierre  replies, 
'he  would  rather  die  than  pay  it.'  Actually,  re- 
turning home,  he  throws  himself  into  the  river, 
and  the  body  is  not  found  till  next  day. 

Mary.  But — but — I  can't  tell  what  you  would 
have  us  think.  Do  you  seriously  mean  that  the 
Greeks  were  better  than  we  are  ;  and  that  their 
gods  were  real  angels  } 

L.  No,  my  dear.  I  mean  only  that  we  know, 
in  reality,  less  than  nothing  of  the  dealings  of 
our  Maker  with  our  fellow-men  ;  and  can  only 
reason  or  conjecture  safely  about  them,  when  we 
have  sincerely  humble  thoughts  of  ourselves  and 
our  creeds. 

We  owe  to  the  Greeks  every  noble  discipline 
in  literature,  every  radical  principle  of  art ;  and 
every  form  of  convenient  beauty  in  our  household 
furniture  and  daily  occupations  of  life.  We  are 
unable,  ourselves,  to  make  rational  use  of  half 
that  we  have  received  from  them  :  and,  of  our 
own,  we  have  nothing  but  discoveries  in  science, 
and  fine  mechanical  adaptations  of  the  discovered 
physical  powers.      On   the   other   hand,   the  vice 


224  THE  ETHICS  OF    THE  DUST. 

existing  among  certain  classes,  both  of  the  rich  and 
poor,  in  London,  Paris,  and  Vienna,  could  have 
been  conceived  by  a  Spartan  or  Roman  of  the 
heroic  ages  only  as  possible  in  a  Tartarus,  where 
fiends  were  employed  to  teach,  but  not  to  punish, 
crime.  It  little  becomes  us  to  speak  contemptu- 
ously of  the  religion  of  races  to  whom  we  stand 
in  such  relations  ;  nor  do  I  think  any  man  of 
modesty  or  thoughtfulness  will  ever  speak  so  of 
any  religion,  in  which  God  has  allowed  one  good 
man  to  die,  trusting. 

The  more  readily  we  admit  the  possibility  of  our 
own  cherished  convictions  being  mixed  with  error, 
the  more  vital  and  helpful  whatever  is  right  in  them 
will  become  :  and  no  error  is  so  conclusively  fatal 
as  the  idea  that  God  will  not  allow  us  to  err, 
though  He  has  allowed  all  other  men  to  do  so. 
There  may  be  doubt  of  the  meaning  of  other  vis- 
ions, but  there  is  none  respecting  that  of  the  dream 
of  St.  Peter ;  and  you  may  trust  the  Rock  of  the 
Church's  Foundation  for  true  interpreting,  when 
he  learned  from  it  that,  'in  every  nation,  he  that 
feareth  God  and  worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted 
with  Him.'  See  that  you  understand  what  that 
righteousness  means  ;  and  set  hand  to  it  stoutly  : 
you  will  always  measure  your  neighbours'  creed 
kindly,  in  proportion  to  the  substantial  fruits  of 
your  own.  Do  not  think  you  will  ever  get  harm 
by  striving  to  enter  into  the  faith  of  others,  and  to 


THE    CRYSTAL  REST.  225 

sympathise,  in  imagination,  with  the  guiding  prin- 
ciples of  their  Hves.  So  only  can  you  justly  love 
them,  or  pity  them,  or  praise.  By  the  gracious 
effort  you  will  double,  treble — nay,  indefinitely 
multiply,  at  once  the  ple3,sure,  the  reverence,  and 
the  intelligence  with  which  you  read  :  and,  believe 
me,  it  is  wiser  and  holier,  by  the  fire  of  your  own 
faith  to  kindle  the  ashes  of  expired  religions,  than 
to  let  your  soul  shiver  and  stumble  among  their 
graves,  through  the  gathering  darkness,  and  com- 
municable cold. 

Mary  (after  some  pause).  We  shall  all  like 
reading  Greek  history  so  much  better  after  this  I 
but  it  has  put  everything  else  out  of  our  heads  that 
we  wanted  to  ask. 

L.  I  can  tell  you  one  of  the  things  ;  and  I 
might  take  credit  for  generosity  in  telling  you  ; 
but  I  have  a  personal  reason — Lucilla's  verse  about 
the  creation. 

Dora.  Oh,  yes — yes  ;  and  its  '  pain  together, 
until  now.' 

L.  I  call  you  back  to  that,  because  I  must  warn 
you  against  an  old  error  of  my  own.  Somewhere. 
in  the  fourth  volume  of  '  Modern  Painters,'!  said 
that  the  earth  seemed  to  have  passed  through  its- 
highest  state  :  and  that,  after  ascending  by  a  series- 
of  phases,  culminating  in  its  habitation  by  man, 
it  seems  to  be  now  gradually  becoming  less  fit  for 
that  habitation. 


226  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

Mary.  Yes,  I  remember. 

L.   I  wrote  those  passages  under  a  very  bitter 
impression  of  the  gradual  perishing  of  beauty  from 
the  loveliest  scenes  which  I  knew  in  the  physical 
world ; — not  in  any  doubtful  way,  such  as  I  might 
have  attributed  to  loss  of  sensation  in  myself — but 
by  violent  and   definite  physical  action ;    such  as 
the  filling  up  of  the  Lac  de  Chede  by  landslips 
from  the  Rochers  des  Fiz  ; — the  narrowing  of  the 
Lake  Lucerne  by  the  gaining  delta  of  the  stream 
of  the  Muotta-Thal,  which,  in  the  course  of  years, 
will  cut  the  lake  into  two,  as  that  of  Brientz  has 
been   divided    from  that    of  Thun ; — the  steady 
diminishing  of  the  glaciers  north  of  the  Alps,  and 
still  more,  of  the  sheets  of  snow  on  their  southern 
slopes,    which   supply   the  refreshing   streams   of 
Lombardy : — the  equally  steady  increase  of  deadly 
maremma  round  Pisa  and  Venice ;  and  other  such 
phenomena,  quite  measurably  traceable  within  the 
limits  even  of  short  life,  and  unaccompanied,  as  it 
seemed,  by  redeeming  or  compensatory  agencies. 
I  am  still  under  the  same  impression  respecting  the 
existing  phenomena ;    but  I  feel  more  strongly, 
every  day,  that  no  evidence  to  be  collected  within 
historical  periods  can  be  accepted  as  any  clue  to 
the  great  tendencies  of  geological  change ;    but 
that  the  great  laws  which  never  fail,  and  to  which 
all  change  is  subordinate,   appear  such  as  to  ac- 
complish a  gradual  advance  to  lovelier  order,  and 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  22/ 

more  calmly,  yet  more  deeply,  animated  Rest. 
Nor  has  this  conviction  ever  fastened  itself  upon 
me  more  distinctly,  than  during  my  endeavour  to 
trace  the  laws  which  govern  the  lowly  framework 
of  the  dust.  For,  through  all  the  phases  of  its 
transition  and  dissolution,  there  seems  to  be  a 
continual  effort  to  raise  itself  into  a  higher  state  ; 
and  a  measured  gain,  through  the  fierce  revulsion 
and  slow  renewal  of  the  earth's  frame,  in  beauty, 
and  order,  and  permanence.  The  soft  white  sedi- 
ments of  the  sea  draw  themselves,  in  process  of 
time,  into  smooth  knots  of  sphered  symmetry  ; 
burdened  and  strained  under  increase  of  pressure, 
they  pass  into  a  nascent  marble;  scorched  by  fer- 
vent heat,  they  brighten  and  blanch  into  the 
snowy  rock  of  Paros  and  Carrara.  The  dark 
drift  of  the  inland  river,  or  stagnant  slime  of  in- 
land pool  and  lake,  divides,  or  resolves  itself  as  it 
dries,  into  layers  of  its  several  elements ;  slowly 
purifying  each  by  the  patient  withdrawal  of  it  from 
the  anarchy  of  the  mass  in  which  it  was  mingled. 
Contracted  by  increasing  drought,  till  it  must 
shatter  into  fragments,  it  infuses  continually  a 
finer  ichor  into  the  opening  veins,  and  finds  in  its. 
weakness  the  first  rudiments  of  a  perfect  strength. 
Rent  at  last,  rock  from  rock,  nay,  atom  from  atom, 
and  tormented  in  lambent  fire,  it  knits,  through 
the  fusion,  the  fibres  of  a  perennial  endurance ; 
and,   during  countless  subsequent  centuries,   de- 


228  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

dining,  or,  rather  let  me  say,  rising,  to  repose, 
finishes  the  infallible  lustre  of  its  crystalline  beauty, 
under  harmonies  of  law  which  are  wholly  benefi- 
cent, because  wholly  inexorable. 

{The  children  seem  pleased,  but  more  inclined 
to  think  over  these  matters  than  to  talk. ) 

L.  {after  giving  them  a  little  time. )  Mary,  I  sel- 
dom ask  you  to  read  anything  out  of  books  of 
mine ;  but  there  is  a  passage  about  the  Law  of 
Help,  which  I  want  you  to  read  to  the  children 
now,  because  it  is  of  no  use  merely  to  put  it  in 
other  words  for  them.  You  know  the  place  I 
mean,  do  not  you  ? 

Mary.  Yes  {presently  finding  it);  where  shall  I 
begin  ? 

L.  Here ;  but  the  elder  ones  had  better  look 
afterwards  at  the  piece  which  comes  just  before 
this. 

Mary  {reads): 

'  A  pure  or  holy  state  of  anything  is  that  in  which  all 
its  parts  are  helpful  or  consistent.  The  highest  and  first 
law  of  the  universe,  and  the  other  name  of  life,  is  there- 
fore, "help."  The  other  name  of  death  is  "  separation." 
Government  and  co-operation  are  in  all  things,  and  eter- 
nally, the  laws  of  life.  Anarchy  and  competition,  eter- 
nally, and  in  all  things,  the  laws  of  death. 

'  Perhaps  the  best,  though  the  most  familiar,  example 
we  could  take  of  the  nature  and  power  of  consistence,  will 
be  that  of  the  possible  changes  in  the  dust  we  tread  on. 

'  Exclusive  of  animal  decay,  we  can  hardly  arrive  at  a 


THE   CRYSTAL   REST.  229 

more  absolute  type  of  impiirity,  than  the  mud  or  slime  of 
a  damp,  over-trodden  path,  in  the  outskirts  of  a  manufac- 
turing town.  I  do  not  say  mud  of  the  road,  because  that 
is  mixed  with  animal  refuse  ;  but  take  merely  an  ounce  or 
two  of  the  blackest  slime  of  a  beaten  footpath,  on  a  rainy 
day,  near  a  manufacturing  town.  That  slime  we  shall 
find  in  most  cases  composed  of  clay  (or  brickdust,  which 
is  burnt  clay),  mixed  with  soot,  a  little  sand  and  water. 
All  these  elements  are  at  helpless  war  with  each  other, 
and  destroy  reciprocally  each  other's  nature  and  power  : 
competing  and  fighting  for  place  at  every  tread  of  your 
foot ;  sand  squeezing  out  clay,  and  clay  squeezing  out 
water,  and  soot  meddling  everywhere,  and  defiling  the 
whole.  Let  us  suppose  that  this  ounce  of  mud  is  left  in 
perfect  rest,  and  that  its  elements  gather  together,  like  to 
like,  so  that  their  atoms  may  get  into  the  closest  relations 
possible. 

'  Let  the  clay  begin.  Ridding  itself  of  all  foreign  sub- 
stance, it  gradually  becomes  a  white  earth,  already  very 
beautiful,  and  fit,  with  help  of  congealing  fire,  to  be  made 
into  finest  porcelain,  and  painted  on,  and  be  kept  in  kings' 
palaces.  But  such  artificial  consistence  is  not  its  best. 
Leave  it  still  quiet,  to  follow  its  own  instinct  of  unity,  and 
it  becomes,  not  only  white  but  clear  ;  not  only  clear,  but 
hard  ;  nor  only  clear  and  hard,  but  so  set  that  it  can  deal 
with  light  in  a  wonderful  way,  and  gather  out  of  it  the 
loveliest  blue  rays  only,  refusing  the  rest.  We  call  it  then 
a  sapphire. 

'  Such  being  the  consummation  of  the  clay,  we  give 
similar  permission  of  quiet  to  the  sand.  It  also  becomes, 
first,  a  white  earth  ;  then  proceeds  to  grow  clear  and 
hard,  and  at  last  arranges  itself  in  mysterious,  infinitely 
fine  parallel  lines,  which  have  the  power  of  reflecting,  not 
merely  the  blue  rays,  but  the  blue,  green,  purple,  and  red 


230  THE  ETHICS  OF   THE  DUST. 

rays,  in  the  greatest  beauty  in  which  they  can  be  seen 
through  any  hard  material  whatsoever.  We  call  it  then 
an  opal. 

'  In  next  order  the  soot  sets  to  work.  It  cannot  make 
itself  white  at  first  ;  but,  instead  of  being  discouraged, 
tries  harder  and  harder  ;  and  comes  out  clear  at  last ;  and 
the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  :  and  for  the  blackness  that 
it  had,  obtains  in  exchange  the  power  of  reflecting  all  the 
rays  of  the  sun  at  once,  in  the  vividest  blaze  that  any  solid 
thing  can  shoot.     We  call  it  then  a  diamond. 

'  Last  of  all,  the  water  purifies,  or  unites  itself  ;  con- 
tented enough  if  it  only  reach  the  form  of  a  dewdrop:  but 
if  we  insist  on  its  proceeding  to  a  more  perfect  consis- 
tence, it  crystallises  into  the  shape  of  a  star.  And,  for 
the  ounce  of  slime  which  we  had  by  political  economy  of 
competition,  we  have,  by  political  economy  of  co-opera- 
tion, a  sapphire,  an  opal,  and  a  diamond,  set  in  the  midst 
of  a  star  of  snow. ' 

L.  I  have  asked  you  to  hear  that,  children,  be- 
cause, from  all  that  we  have  seen  in  the  work  and 
play  of  these  past  days,  I  would  have  you  gain 
at  least  one  grave  and  enduring  thought.  The 
seeming  trouble, — the  unquestionable  degrada- 
tion,— of  the  elements  of  the  physical  earth,  must 
passively  wait  the  appointed  time  of  their  repose, 
or  their  restoration.  It  can  only  be  brought 
about  for  them  by  the  agency  of  external  law. 
But  if,  indeed,  there  be  a  nobler  life  in  us  than  in 
these  strangely  moving  atoms  ; — if,  indeed,  there 
is  an  eternal  difference  between  the  fire  which  in- 
habits them,  and  that  which  animates  us, — it  must 


THE   CRYSTAL  REST.  23 1 

be  shown,  by  each  of  us  in  his  appointed  place, 
not  merely  in  the  patience,  but  in  the  activity  of 
our  hope ;  not  merely  by  our  desire,  but  our 
labour,  for  the  time  when  the  Dust  of  the  genera- 
tions of  men  shall  be  confirmed  for  foundations  of 
the  gates  of  the  city  of  God.  The  human  clay, 
now  trampled  and  despised,  will  not  be, — cannot 
be, — knit  into  strength  and  light  by  accident  or 
ordinances  of  unassisted  fate.  By  human  cruelty 
and  iniquity  it  has  been  afflicted; — by  human 
mercy  and  justice  it  must  be  raised :  and,  in  all 
fear  or  questioning  of  what  is  or  is  not,  the  real 
message  of  creation,  or  of  revelation,  you  may 
assuredly  find  perfect  peace,  if  you  are  resolved  to 
do  that  which  your  Lord  has  plainly  required, — 
and  content  that  He  should  indeed  require  no 
more  of  you, — than  to  do  Justice,  to  love  Mercy, 
and  to  walk  humbly  with  Him. 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


Note  I. 

Page  26. 

'  That  third  pyramid  of  hers.* 

Throughout  the  dialogues,  it  must  be  observed  that 
'  Sibyl '  is  addressed  (when  in  play)  as  having  once  been 
the  Cumaean  Sibyl  ;  and  '  Egypt '  as  having  been  queen 
Nitocris, — the  Cinderella,  and  '  the  greatest  heroine  and 
beauty'  of  Egyptian  story.  The  Egyptians  called  her 
'  Neith  the  Victorious'  (Nitocris),  and  the  Greeks  '  Face 
of  the  Rose '  (Rhodope).  Chaucer's  beautiful  conception 
of  Cleopatra  in  the  '  Legend  of  Good  Women,'  is  much 
more  founded  on  the  traditions  of  her  than  on  those  of 
Cleopatra  ;  and,  especially  in  its  close,  modified  by  Herod- 
otus's  terrible  story  of  the  death  of  Nitocris,  which, 
however,  is  mythologically  nothing  more  than  a  part  of 
the  deep  monotonous  ancient  dirge  for  the  fulfilment  of 
the  earthly  destiny  of  Beauty  ;  '  She  cast  herself  into  a 
chamber  full  of  ashes. ' 

I  believe  this  Queen  is  now  sufficiently  ascertained  to 
have  either  built,  or  increased  to  double  its  former  size, 
the  third  pyramid  of  Gizeh  :  and  the  passage  following  in 
the  text  refers  to  an  imaginary  endeavour,  by  the  Old  Lec- 
turer and  the  children  together,  to  make  out  the  descrip- 

235 


236  NOTES. 

tion  of  that  pyramid  in  the  167th  page  of  the  second  vol- 
ume of  Bunsen's  'Egypt's  Place  in  Univereal  History' 
— ideal  endeavour, — which  ideally  terminates  as  the  Old 
Lecturer's  real  endeavours  to  the  same  end  always  have 
terminated.  There  are,  however,  valuable  notes  respect- 
ing Nitocris  at  page  210  of  the  same  volume :  but  the 
*  Early  Egyptian  History  for  the  Young,'  by  the  author 
of  Sidney  Gray,  contains,  in  a  pleasant  form, as  much  in. 
formation  as  young  readers  will  usually  need. 

Note  II. 
Page  27. 
'  Pyramid  of  Asychis. ' 
This   pyramid,  in  mythology,   divides  with  the  Towe» 
of    Babel  the  shame,  or  vain  glory,   of  being  presump- 
tuously, and  first  among  great  edifices,  built  with  '  bricli 
for  stone. '     This  was  the  inscription  on  it,  according  tc- 
Herodotus  : 

'  Despise  me  not,  in  comparing  me  with  the  pyramids 

of  stone;  for  I  have  the  pre-eminence  over  them,  as 

far  as  Jupiter  has  pre-eminence  over  the  gods.     For, 

striking  with  staves  into  the  pool,  men  gathered  the 

clay  which   fastened   itself  to  the  staff,  and  kneaded 

bricks  out  of  it,  and  so  made  me.' 

The   word     I     have    translated    '  kneaded '    is   literally 

'  drew  ; '  in  the  sense  of  drawing,  for  which  the  Latins 

used  '  duco  ; '  and  thus  gave  us  our  '  ductile  '  in  speaking 

of  dead  clay,  and  Duke,  Doge,  or  leader,  in  speaking  of 

living  clay.     As  the  asserted  pre-eminence  of  the  edifice 

is  made,  in  this  inscription,  to  rest  merely  on  the  quantity 

of  labour  consumed  in  it,  this  pyramid  is  considered,  in 

the  text,  as  the  type,  at  once,  of  the  base  building,  and  of 


NOTES.  237 

the  lost  labour,  of  future  ages,  so  far  at  least  as  the  spirits 
of  measured  and  mechanical  effort  deal  with  it;  but  Neith, 
exercising  her  power  upon  it,  makes  it  a  type  of  the  work 
of  wise  and  inspired  builders. 

Note  III. 

Page  28. 
'  The  Greater  Pihah.' 
It  is  impossible,  as  yet,  to  define  with  distinctness  the 
personal  agencies  of  the  Egyptian  deities.  They  are 
continually  associated  in  function,  or  hold  derivative  pow- 
ers, or  are  related  to  each  other  in  mysterious  triads ; 
uniting  always  symbolism  of  physical  phenomena  with 
real  spiritual  power.  I  have  endeavoured  partly  to  ex- 
plain this  in  the  text  of  the  tenth  Lecture:  here,  it  is  only 
necessary  for  the  reader  to  know  that  the  Greater  Pthah 
more  or  less  represents  the  formative  power  of  order  and 
measurement :  he  always  stands  on  a  four-square  pedestal, 
'  the  Egyptian  cubit,  metaphorically  used  as  the  hiero- 
glyphic for  truth  ;'  his  limbs  are  bound  together,  to  signify 
fixed  stability,  as  of  a  pillar  ;  he  has  a  measuring-rod  in 
his  hand  ;  and  at  Philas,  is  represented  as  holding  an  egg 
on  a  potter's  wheel;  but  I  do  not  know  if  this  symbol  oc- 
curs in  older  sculptures.  His  usual  title  is  the  '  Lord  of 
Truth.'  Others,  very  beautiful:  '  King  of  the  Two  Worlds, 
of  Gracious  Countenance,'  '  Superintendent  of  the  Great 
Abode,'  &c.,  are  given  by  Mr.  Birch  in  Arundale's  '  Gal- 
lery of  Antiquities,'  which  I  suppose  is  the  book  of  best 
authority  easily  accessible.  For  the  full  titles  and  utter- 
ances of  the  gods,  Rosellini  is  as  yet  the  only — and  I  be- 
lieve, still  a  very  questionable — authority  ;  and  Arundale's 
little  book,  excellent  in  the  text,  has  this  great  defect. 


238  NOTES. 

that  its  drawings  give  the  statues  invariably  a  ludicrous  or 
ignoble  character.  Readers  who  have  not  access  to  the 
originals  must  be  warned  against  this  frequent  fault  in 
modern  illustration  (especially  existing  also  in  some  of  the 
painted  casts  of  Gothic  and  Norman  work  at  the  Crystal 
Palace).  It  is  not  owing  to  any  wilful  want  of  veracity  : 
the  plates  in  Arundale's  book  are  laboriously  faithful  :  but 
the  expressions  of  both  face  and  body  in  a  figure  depend 
merely  on  emphasis  of  touch  ;  and,  in  barbaric  art,  most 
draughtsmen  emphasise  what  they  plainly  see — the  bar- 
barism ;  and  miss  conditions  of  nobleness,  which  they 
must  approach  the  monument  in  a  different  temper  before 
they  will  discover  and  draw  with  great  subtlety  before 
they  can  express. 

The  character  of  the  Lower  Pthah,  or  perhaps  I  ought 
rather  to  say,  of  Pthah  in  his  lower  office,  is  sufficiently 
explained  in  the  text  of  the  third  Lecture;  only  the  reader 
must  be  warned  that  the  Egyptian  symbolism  of  him  by 
the  beetle  was  not  a  scornful  one  ;  it  expressed  only  the 
idea  of  his  presence  in  the  first  elements  of  life.  But  it 
may  not  unjustly  be  used,  in  another  sense,  by  us,  who 
have  seen  his  power  in  new  development ;  and,  even  as  it 
was,  I  cannot  conceive  that  the  Egyptians  should  have  re- 
garded their  beetle-headed  image  of  him  (Champollion, 
'Pantheon,'  pi.  12),  without  some  occult  scorn.  It  is  the 
most  painful  of  all  their  types  of  any  beneficent  power  ; 
and  even  among  those  of  evil  influences,  none  can  be  com- 
pared with  it,  except  its  opposite,  the  tortoise-headed 
•demon  of  indolence. 

Pasht  (p.  27,  line  i)  is  connected  with  the  Greek  Arte- 
mis, especially  in  her  offices  of  judgment  and  vengeance. 
She  is  usually  lioness-headed  ;  sometimes  cat-headed  ;  hef 
attributes  seeming  often  trivial  or  ludicrous  unless  their 
full  meaning  is  known  ;  but  the  enquiry  is  much  too  wide 


NOTES.  239 

to  be  followed  here.  The  cat  was  sacred  to  her  ;  or 
rather  to  the  sun,  and  secondarily  to  her.  She  is  alluded 
to  in  the  text  because  she  is  always  the  companion  of 
Pthah  (called  '  the  beloved  of  Pthah,'  it  may  be  as  Judg- 
ment, demanded  and  longed  for  by  Truth) ;  and  it  may  be 
well  for  young  readers  to  have  this  fixed  in  their  minds, 
even  by  chaiice  association.  There  are  more  statues  of 
Pasht  in  the  British  Museum  than  of  any  other  Egyptian 
deity  ;  several  of  them  fine  in  workmanship  ;  nearly  all 
in  dark  stone,  which  may  be,  presumably,  to  connect  her, 
as  the  moon,  with  the  night  ;  and  in  her  office  of  avenger, 
with  grief. 

Thoth  (p.  31,  line  3),  is  the  Recording  Angel  of  Judg- 
ment ;  and  the  Greek  Hermes — Phre  (line  7),  is  the  Sun. 

Neith  is  the  Egyptian  spirit  of  divine  wisdom  ;  and  the 
Athena  of  the  Greeks.  No  sufficient  statement  of  her 
many  attributes,  still  less  of  their  meanings,  can  be  shortly 
given  ;  but  this  should  be  noted  respecting  the  veiling  of 
the  Egyptian  image  of  her  by  vulture  wings — that  as 
she  is,  physically,  the  goddess  of  the  air,  this  bird,  the 
most  powerful  creature  of  the  air  known  to  the  Egyp- 
tians, naturally  became  her  symbol.  It  had  other  significa- 
tions ;  but  certainly  this,  when  in  connection  with  Neith. 
As  representing  her,  it  was  the  most  important  sign,  next 
to  the  winged  sphere,  in  Egyptian  sculpture  ;  and,  just  as 
in  Homer,  Athena  herself  guides  her  heroes  into  battle, 
this  symbol  of  wisdom,  giving  victory,  floats  over  the 
heads  of  the  Egyptian  kings.  The  Greeks,  representing 
the  goddess  herself  in  human  form,  yet  would  not  lose  the 
power  of  the  Egyptian  symbol,  and  changed  it  into  an 
angel  of  victory.  First  seen  in  loveliness  on  the  early 
coins  of  Syracuse  and  Leontium,  it  gradually  became  the 
received  sign  of  all  conquest,  and  the  so-called  '  Victory  ' 
of  later  times  ;  which,  little  by  little,  loses  it  truth,  and  is 


240  NOTES. 

accepted  by  the  moderns  only  as  a  personification  of  vic- 
tory itself, — not  as  an  actual  picture  of  the  living  ArK^el 
who  led  to  victory.  There  is  a  wide  difference  between 
these  two  conceptions, — all  the  difference  between  insin- 
cere poetry,  and  sincere  religion.  This  I  have  also  en- 
deavoured farther  to  illustrate  in  the  tenth  Lecture  ;  there 
is  however  one  part  of  Athena's  character  which  it  would 
have  been  irrelevant  to  dwell  upon  there  ;  yet  which  I 
must  not  wholly  leave  unnoticed. 

As  the  goddess  of  the  air,  she  physically  represents  both 
its  beneficent  calm,  and  necessary  tempest :  other  storm- 
deities  (as  Chrysaor  and  vEolus)  being  invested  with  a 
subordinate  and  more  or  less  malignant  function,  which 
is  exclusively  their  own,  and  is  related  to  that  of  Athena 
as  the  power  of  Mars  is  related  to  hers  in  war.  So  also 
Virgil  makes  her  able  to  wield  the  lightning  herself, 
while  Juno  cannot,  but  must  pray  for  the  intervention  of 
./Eolus.  She  has  precisely  the  correspondent  moral  au- 
thority over  calmness  of  mind,  and  just  anger.  She 
soothes  Achilles,  as  she  incites  Tydides  ;  her  physical 
power  over  the  air  being  always  hinted  correlatively.  She 
grasps  Achilles  by  his  hair — as  the  wind  would  lift  it — 
softly, 

"  It  fanned  his  cheek,  it  raised  his  hair, 
Like  a  meadow  gale  in  spring." 

She  does  not  merely  turn  the  lance  of  Mars  from  Diomed; 
but  seizes  it  in  both  her  hands,  and  casts  it  aside,  with 
a  sense  of  making  it  vain,  like  chaff  in  the  wind  ; — to  the 
shout  of  Achilles,  she  adds  her  own  voice  of  storm  in 
heaven — but  in  all  cases  the  moral  power  is  still  the  prin- 
cipal one — most  beautifully  in  that  seizing  of  Achilles  by 
the  hair,  which  was  the  talisman  of  his  life  (because  he 
had  vowed  it  to  the  Sperchius  if  he  returned  in  safely),  and 
which,  in  giving  at  Patroclus'  tomb,  he,  knowingly,  yields 


NOTES.  241 

up  the  hope  of  return  to  his  country,  and  signifies  that  he 
will  die  with  his  friend.  Achilles  and  Tydides  are,  above 
all  other  heroes,  aided  by  her  in  war,  because  their  pre- 
vailing characters  are  the  desire  of  justice,  united  in  both, 
with  deep  affections  ;  and,  in  Achilles,  with  a  passionate 
tenderness,  which  is  the  real  root  of  his  passionate  anger. 
Ulysses  is  her  favourite  chiefly  in  her  office  as  the  god- 
dess of  conduct  and  design. 


Note  IV. 

Page  77. 

'  Geometrical  limitations' 

It  is  difficult,  without  a  tedious  accuracy,  or  without 
full  illustration,  to  express  the  complete  relations  of  crys- 
talline structure,  which  dispose  minerals  to  take,  at  differ- 
ent times,  fibrous,  massive,  or  foliated  forms;  and  I  am 
afraid  this  chapter  will  be  generally  skipped  by  the  reader: 
yet  the  arrangement  itself  will  be  found  useful,  if  kept 
broadly  in  mind ;  and  the  transitions  of  state  are  of  the 
highest  interest,  if  the  subject  is  entered  upon  with  any 
earnestness.  It  would  have  been  vain  to  add  to  the 
scheme  of  this  little  volume  any  account  of  the  geometri- 
cal forms  of  crystals:  an  available  one,  though  still  far  too 
difficult  and  too  copious,  has  been  arranged  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Mitchell,  for  Orr's  'Circle  of  the  Sciences';  and,  I 
believe,  the  '  nets '  of  crystals,  which  are  therein  given  to 
be  cut  out  with  scissors  and  put  prettily  together,  will  be 
found  more  conquerable  by  young  ladies  than  by  other 
students.  They  should  also,  when  an  opportunity  occurs, 
be  shown,  at  any  public  library,  the  diagram  of  the  crys- 
tallisation of  quartz  referred  to  poles,  at  p.  8  of  Cloizaux's 


242  NOTES. 

'  Manuel  de  Minferalogie ' :  that  they  may  know  what  work 
is;  and  what  the  subject  is. 

With  a  view  to  more  careful  examination  of  the  nascent 
states  of  silica,  I  have  made  no  allusion  in  this  volume  to 
the  influence  of  mere  segregation,  as  connected  with  the 
crystalline  power.  It  has  only  been  recently,  during  the 
study  of  the  breccias  alluded  to  in  page  182,  that  I  have 
fully  seen  the  extent  to  which  this  singular  force  often 
modifies  rocks  in  which  at  first  its  influence  might  hardly 
have  been  suspected;  many  apparent  conglomerates  being 
in  reality  formed  chiefly  by  segregation,  combined  with 
mysterious  brokenly-zoned  structures,  like  those  of  some 
malachites.  I  hope  some  day  to  know  more  of  these  and 
several  other  mineral  phenomena  (especially  of  those  con- 
nected with  the  relative  sizes  of  crystals),  which  otherwise 
I  should  have  endeavoured  to  describe  in  this  volume. 


Note  V. 

Page  164. 

'  St.  Barbara* 

I  WOULD  have  given  the  legends  of  St.  Barbara,  and  St. 
Thomas,  if  I  had  thought  it  always  well  for  young  read- 
ers to  have  everything  at  once  told  them  which  they  may 
wish  to  know.  They  will  remember  the  stories  better 
after  taking  some  trouble  to  find  them;  and  the  text  is 
intelligible  enough  as  it  stands.  The  idea  of  St.  Barbara, 
as  there  given,  is  founded  partly  on  her  legend  in  Peter 
de  Natalibus,  partly  on  the  beautiful  photograph  of  Van 
Eyck's  picture  of  her  at  Antwerp:  which  was  some  time 
since  published  at  Lille. 


NOTES.  243 

Note  VI. 

Page  222. 

'  King  of  the  Valley  of  Diamonds. 

Isabel  interrupted  the  Lecturer  here,  and  was  briefly 
bid  to  hold  her  tongue;  which  gave  rise  to  some  talk, 
apart,  afterwards,  between  L.  and  Sibyl,  of  which  a  word 
or  two  may  be  perhaps  advisably  set  down. 

Sibyl.  We  shall  spoil  Isabel,  certainly,  if  we  don't 
mind:  I  was  glad  you  stopped  her,  and  yet  sorry;  for  she 
wanted  so  much  to  ask  about  the  Valley  of  Diamonds 
again,  and  she  has  worked  so  hard  at  it,  and  made  it  nearly 
all  out  by  herself.  She  recollected  Elisha's  throwing  in 
the  meal,  which  nobody  else  did. 

L.   But  what  did  she  want  to  ask  ? 

Sibyl.  About  the  mulberry  trees  and  the  serpents;  we 
are  all  stopped  by  that.     Won't  you  tell  us  what  it  means  ? 

L.  Now,  Sibyl,  I  am  sure  you,  who  never  explained 
yourself,  should  be  the  last  to  expect  others  Jo  do  so.  I 
hate  explaining  myself. 

Sibyl.  And  yet  how  often  you  complain  of  other  peo- 
ple for  not  saying  what  they  meant.  How  I  have  heard 
you  growl  over  the  three  stone  steps  to  purgatory;  for 
instance ! 

L.  Yes;  because  Dante's  meaning  is  worth  getting  at; 
but  mine  matters  nothing:  at  least,  if  ever  I  think  it  is  of 
any  consequence,  I  speak  it  as  clearly  as  may  be.  But 
you  may  make  anything  you  like  of  the  serpent  forests. 
I  could  have  helped  you  to  find  out  what  they  were,  by 
giving  a  little  more  detail,  but  it  would  have  been  tire- 
some. 


244  NOTES. 

Sibyl.  It  is  much  more  tiresome  not  to  find  out.  Tell 
us,  please,  as  Isabel  says,  because  we  feel  so  stupid. 

L.  There  is  no  stupidity;  you  could  not  possibly  do 
more  than  guess  at  anything  so  vague.  But  I  think,  you, 
Sibyl,  at  least,  might  have  recollected  what  first  dyed  the 
mulberry  ? 

Sibyl.  So  I  did;  but  that  helped  little;  I  thought  of 
Dante's  forest  of  suicides,  too,  but  you  would  not  simply 
have  borrowed  that  ? 

L.  No.  If  I  had  had  strength  to  use  it,  I  should  have 
stolen  it,  to  beat  into  another  shape  ;  not  borrowed  it. 
But  that  idea  of  souls  in  trees  is  as  old  as  the  world ;  or  at 
least,  as  the  world  of  man.  And  I  did  mean  that  there 
were  souls  in  those  dark  branches; — the  souls  of  all  those 
who  had  perished  in  misery  through  the  pursuit  of  riches, 
and  that  the  river  was  of  their  blood,  gathering  gradually, 
and  flowing  out  of  the  valley.  Then  I  meant  the  serpents 
for  the  souls  of  those  who  had  lived  carelessly  and  wan- 
tonly in  their  riches;  and  who  have  all  their  sins  forgiven 
by  the  world,  because  they  are  rich  :  and  therefore  they 
have  seven  crimson-crested  heads,  for  the  seven  mortal 
sins;  of  which  they  are  proud:  and  these,  and  the  mem- 
ory and  report  of  them,  are  the  chief  causes  of  temptation 
to  others,  as  showing  the  pleasantness  and  absolving 
power  of  riches;  so  that  thus  they  are  singing  serpents. 
And  the  worms  are  the  souls  of  the  common  money-get- 
ters and  traffickers,  who  do  nothing  but  eat  and  spin: 
and  who  gain  habitually  by  the  distress  or  foolishness  of 
others  (as  you  see  the  butchers  have  been  gaining  out  of 
the  panic  at  the  cattle  plague,  among  the  poor), — so  they 
are  made  to  eat  the  dark  leaves,  and  spin,  and  perish. 

Sibyl.  And  the  souls  of  the  great,  cruel,  rich  people 
who  oppress  the  poor,  and  lend  money  to  government  to 
make  unjust  war,  where  are  they  ? 


NOTES.  245 

L.  They  change  into  the  ice,  I  believe,  and  are  knit 
with  the  gold ;  and  make  the  grave-dust  of  the  valley.  I 
believe  so,  at  least,  for  no  one  ever  sees  those  souls  any- 
where. 

(Sibyl  ceases  questioning.) 

Isabel  {who  has  crept  up  to  her  side  without  any  one^s 
seeing).     Oh,  Sibyl,  please  ask  him  about  the  fireflies ! 

L.  What,  you  there,  mousie  !  No;  I  won't  tell  either 
Sibyl  or  you  about  the  fireflies;  nor  a  word  more  about 
anything  else.  You  ought  to  be  little  fireflies  yourselves, 
and  find  your  way  in  twilight  by  your  own  wits. 

Isabel.  But  you  said  they  burned,  you  know? 

L.  Yes;  and  you  may  be  fireflies  that  way  too,  some  of 
you,  before  long,  though  I  did  not  mean  that.  Away 
with  you,  children.  You  have  thought  enough  for  to- 
day. 

NOTE  TO  SECOND  EDITION. 

Sentence  out  of  letter  from  May,  (who  is  staying  with 
Isabel  just  now  at  Cassel),  dated  15th  June,  1877: — 

"  I  am  reading  the  Ethics  with  a  nice  Irish  girl  who  is 
staying  here,  and  she's  just  as  puzzled  as  I've  always  been 
about  the  fireflies,  and  we  both  want  to  know  so  much. 
— Please  be  a  very  nice  old  Lecturer,  and  tell  us,  won't 
you  ?" 

Well,  May,  you  never  were  a  vain  girl;  so  could  scarcely 
guess  that  I  meant  them  for  the  light,  unpursued  vanities, 
which  yet  blind  us,  confused  among  the  stars.  One  even- 
ing, as  I  came  late  into  Siena,  the  fireflies  were  flying 
high  on  a  stormy  sirocco  wind, — the  stars  themselves  no 
brighter,  and  all  their  host  seeming,  at  moments,  to  fade 
as  the  insects  faded. 


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